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FORGET-ME-NOTS 



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FORGET-ME-NOTS 

AND OTHER POEMS 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
I9IO 



Copyright 1910 by Richard G. Badger, 
All Rights Reserved 



•^ 111" 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



©CI.A265399 



This Little Volume 

is dedicated to 
MY CHILDREN 

Who have had 

All My Life, All My Love, 

All My Ambition 



To the Reader 

In introducing this little book of poems I feel, 
to say in the words of Montrose 

"He either fears his fate too much 
Or his deserts are small 
Who dare not put it to the touch 
To gain or lose it all." 

I therefore, take pleasure in saying it was at 
the urgent request of many friends, who have from 
time to time stored away in the bottom drawer some 
of my pleasurable life work, being addicted to poeti- 
cal fervor and romance for personal enjoyment: 
as from the age of lA to 60, with pencil in hand, 
I have gleaned the fields of literature. I therefore 
ask, as a personal favor of the reader you lay aside 
all criticism and enter into the spirit of these little 
songs and the beautiful selections from other au- 
thors herein embraced. 

Cordelia A. McFalls 



FOREWORD 



The poems in this little book were in the hands 
of the publisher when my mother, the author, died. 
I have tried to carry out as best I could, her wishes 
in relation to the book. The sketch of her life is 
made up of fragments from articles written at 
different times, together with some personal recol- 
lections which will help to illustrate her character. 

We beg the indulgence of the public for any 
errors, which, had she lived, would have been 
corrected. 

A. McF. R. 
Saugerties, March 15, 19 10. 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

Mrs. Cornelia McFalls, the daughter of Linus 
and Charity Potter Pierce, was born in Rossie, 
St. Lawrence County, New York, May lo, 1831. 
She was educated in the district schools of her 
time, and later became a teacher. Of a studious 
nature, she spent much of her time in study and 
became one of the best informed women in North- 
ern New York. She gathered the things that count, 
had quick perceptions, and took at a breath, as it 
were, the complete meaning of the author, so that 
she made herself a woman of rare culture and 
true refinement. 

When she was twenty-three years of age, she 
was married to David McFalls, a young doctor 
in her native town, who afterwards became a 
physician of great skill and ability. Both were 
always identified with the best interests of the com- 
munity. 

The atmosphere of their home was something 
beautiful. Even the commonplace routine of daily 
life was uplifted by a remarkable acquaintance 
with the best thoughts of the world's literature. 
To-day their children's memories are stored with 
quotations implanted from the every day conver- 
sation of their parents. 

Mrs. McFalls was the mother of three children, 
the oldest, Louisa, died of diphtheria at 5 years 
of age, and her body is buried at Rossie; reference 



II 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

to her is made in some of her poems. Mrs. Mc- 
Falls possessed the true mother heart, overflowing 
with a great love for her home. Even after her 
husband's death and when her children had left her, 
no meal was eaten, but that the table was laid for 
them all. To her, they were ever present. When 
a little girl she united with the Presbyterian church 
and was a faithful member all her life. 

Through the many vicissitudes of her life she 
carried out in a practical way, her faith and under- 
standing of the lessons she learned. Nearly four- 
score years were hers and yet, to the very last, 
buoyancy, kindness, goodness, joy and the spirit of 
youth radiated throughout her being. For thirty- 
six years she made her home in Gouverneur, N. Y, 
Her fondest friends were there, her sweetest happi- 
ness and her deepest sorrow. She was ever young, 
however, and her heart was overflowing with that 
rare, sweet sympathy that made her responsive to 
every appeal. She was kindly in counsel, gentlest 
in reproof and gladdest in encouragement. Good, 
she saw in everyone; good she saw in everything. 
She hated the low, the uncouth and vulgar. Life 
to her was full of noble ideals and of lofty pur- 
poses. 

The bereavement in the loss of her beautiful 
child and her dearly beloved husband, was power- 
less to sap the glory of her faith, or to tinge with 



12 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

bitterness her life. Though her heart was torn 
with anguish, and her head bowed in humiliation, 
her spirit rebounded, and she brushed the tears 
away and took on a new strength to meet life's 
struggles. Her heart broke forth in 

"Oh God, have mercy on the pain 
All feel who wear affection's chain 
Have mercy on the strife 
That hides the sunshine from the soul, 
And bids the waves of darkness roll 
On the mad sea of life. 
Come in the hush of holy prayer, 
And lighten up this, our wild despair, 
Give to the eye of faith 
The rosy tints beyond the clouds. 
That have no gate but death." 

Then taking up her life anew pressed forward. 
She lived for those about her, fond, faithful, full 
of interest in their every hope or project, bringing 
cheer and blessing by her very presence. She was 
ever a philosopher, getting happiness out of every 
experience, no matter how adverse it seemed to 
others. So through the many disappointments, 
which life held for her, her fortitude always as- 
serted itself. There was no complaining. From 
sorrow she gained comfort in faith. She had 



13 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

within resources or wonderful recuperation powers. 
"Her mind to her a kingdom was, and her conver- 
sation was always a delight." 

The centennial history of the town of Gouver- 
neur, published in 1905, says of Mrs. McFalls: 

"In the heart of this village, which loves and 
appreciates her warm, honest nature and versatile 
talent, she has sung her sweetest songs always, al- 
though no 'literary blue stocking,' " for quoting her 
own words, she could work with one hand and 
write poetry with the other; the very spirit of 
poesy breathes in every line of her dainty verses. 

From her earliest youth she wrote verse and 
made for herself a name in the poet world. Her 
verse has been published far and near. Always 
overflowing with patriotism, she wrote many cam- 
paign songs. One, "Dinna Ye Hear the Slogan?" 
was sung over the length and breadth of the land. 

Mrs. McFalls lived through the turbulent days 
of the Civil War. Her friends never tire of relat- 
ing an incident of the time, which illustrates her 
great force of character. 

Her husband, who was surgeon of the 142nd 
Regiment, N. Y. Vols., was taken seriously ill 
with typhoid fever at Fortress Monroe. Upon 
learning this fact, she left her infant son with a 
relative, boarded the stage, (in the days of few 
railroads) drove about thirty miles to Antwerp. 



14 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

There took the train for Washington. The route 
from New York to the capitol was carefully guard- 
ed all the way by picketed soldiers.. On reaching 
Washington, she learned that an order had been 
issued a few days before that no one could pass 
through the lines. She sought an interview with 
Congressman Wheeler, imploring him to aid her 
in reaching the bedside of her husband, but he 
could not see his way clear to give her assistance, 
but he referred her to General Curtis, who also 
was not in a position to give her much encourage- 
ment. He, however, suggested that it might be 
possible to get through in an ambulance. She 
watched her chance and finally succeeded in board- 
ing an ambulance and after a long and perilous 
ride, she reached the bedside of her husband. He 
was near death, but under her ministration recovered 
his health and was able to tell how his plucky wife, 
through her heroic efforts, had saved his life. 

From her earliest years, she was known for her 
activity in every day or social life, or in any matter 
which came to her hand. It was she who was 
chosen to promote any good cause, to lead in any 
movement, in the community in which she lived. 
To the very close of her life she prided herself in 
keeping abreast of the times and she would not 
allow herself to falter in her steps nor in any way 
favor her age. Always a helpmate to her hus- 



15 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

band in earlier years, she ministered to the sick, 
or assisted him in surgical operations. 

In his political life, she made him many friends 
by patriotic poems or songs. When elected to 
office, she left her home to be with him wherever 
duty called him. 

Loyal to her children, she put forth every eiiEort 
to lead them in the highest paths of her ambition, 
and sacrificed personal comfort that they might re- 
ceive an education. That Mrs. McFalls had a 
marked individuality, every one who knew her 
knows. She was a self-centered woman, and had 
resources within herself for personal enjoyment. 
Often she said she was never lonely, that she had 
more company than she could entertain on the 
shelves of her book case, or in the recesses of her 
mind. No resource can quite equal books when 
one is alone and lonely. It was her greatest pleas- 
ure to give her sorrow or joy embodied form in 
verse. 

With magic touch, she gathered the loveliness 
from lawns, streams, birds and flowers, with a 
heart peculiarly awake to every impression of beauty 
and sublimity, seeking companionship in nature's 
realm. To see her with a basket on her arm, wan- 
dering out to some little rivulet or covert, was a 
familiar sight. Here she would remain all day; 
make a pot of cof¥ee over an impromptu fire and 



i6 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

with a favorite book of poems in one hand, pencil 
and pad, be as happy as the birds that caroled around 
her. Thus life to this lady was a dream of sweet- 
est enjoyment. "She envied not the rich their 
state, but looked with pity on the great and blessed 
her humble lot." The only envy she was ever 
known to express, was when reading some beau- 
tiful thoughts, she would lay down her book and 
with a gesture peculiarly her own, exclaim, "Why 
couldn't I have been the author of that?" One of 
her last written thoughts was, 

"I cannot reach the heights, Oh God! 
With longing I aspire to lift 
My soul in clearer thought, 
To mount in reasoning higher." 

Her hospitality was phenomenal. No one was 
allowed to leave her house without refreshment, 
and no one enjoyed the treat better than she. No 
one was ever turned away from her door hungry. 
The snarling dog or misused cat and the little 
timid birds found a refuge with her. One day a 
guest at dinner felt a peculiar sensation at his foot, 
and looking down, saw some little sparrows under 
the table looking for crumbs. "They are a part 
of my family," she explained. Then repeated this 
little poem of hers. 



17 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

I caught a bird upon the wing, 

And thought its plumage fair, 

I tossed it forth the wind upon 

To see it fan the air. 

I thought to clasp it quick again, 

My little bird of song, 

But no; it lighted on a limb. 

And warbled forth a song. 

It arched its little head and neck, 

All flecked with golden hue, 

And peering down with sweetest song, 

Warbled a clear adieu. 

With outstretched hand I tried again 

To clasp the pretty thing; 

Again it fluttered in the air, 

And on its downy wing 

My beautiful was lost to sight. 

It soared away beneath the stars 

Through the shadows of the night. 

In every storm she was like an oak, a rock; in 
the sunshine she was a flower; in the shadow, a 
sunbeam. Impatient with technicalities, with pre- 
tence and deceit, she lived with, but yet apart from 
many whose narrow horizon kept them from seeing 
or understanding her high ideals of life. She loved 
the beautiful and the good. She reached toward 
the heights, and was the friend of heroic souls. 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

The record of her generous life is like a vine 
around the memory. It would not become us to 
speak before the world of some of the trials of 
her life, nor could it be spoken, but it will help 
others maybe, to know that it is possible to live 
above the bitterest woes and like her, to live in 
a higher atmosphere. 

When she was seventy-eight years of age, she 
was stricken with paralysis and lived only five 
weeks, but her courage never left her. Her mind 
remained clear and active and she bore her illness 
with the same fortitude which was the keynote of 
her character; even when the power of speech left 
her, she made herself understood and at the end 
quietly and beautifully sank to sleep. 

Adjoining the home of her girlhood in old Rossie, 
on the banks of the Indian river, a portion of land 
was many years ago reserved for a burial ground. 
Here beside her loved ones, she is laid to rest. The 
following lines picked up on her study table, in 
relation to this beautiful place, were probably the 
last she ever wrote. 



The sun has uncovered the grass mounds, 
And the snowflakes have melted away 
Into dew drops of tears forever 
On the bosom of earth they will lay. 



19 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

And I visit the graves of my loved ones, 
And I think of the days that are o'er, 
Of the ties that are broken so binding, 
Now linked to the heavenly shore. 

And I mourn for a sister, whose earth love 
Was deeper than fountains below. 
For whenever by sorrow afflicted 
For me would her tears overflow. 

Where the half-brothers, sleeping would waken 
If they knew that in sorrow I roam, 
For aflFection had builded a temple, 
And roofed it with love o'er our home. 

Oh yes, I am standing beside them, 
Where my beautiful darling is laid. 
With her long auburn curls in the casket, 
Twined with rosebuds that never will fade. 

Here the sunshine falls on the hillside. 
Here the moonbeams rest for the night. 
Here night's curtain is folded around them. 
As it falls 'neath the twinkling light. 

By the banks of the old Indian River, 
Whose tide never ceases to flow, 
Where pond lilies dance on her bosom, 
As onward the crested waves go. 



20 



CORNELIA A. McFALLS 

Oh eddy, forever, I pray thee, 

'Round the banks where my loved ones now sleep, 

Lulled to rest by the murmuring music 

Of waters that chime to the deep. 

Sleep on, 'till the river shall broaden, 
Where all of earth's people shall be 
Gathered home in the mists of the morning, 
As ripples that float on the sea. 

Mrs. McFalls is survived by two children, Alida, 
wife of Dr. Stanley C. Reynolds, of Saugerties, and 
David, a lawyer of White Plains, and a dearly be- 
loved brother, Linus J. Pierce, who lives in Du- 
luth, Minn. 



21 



CONTENTS 




Silent Prayer 


27 


Childhood Home 


28 


Bonnie-Castle 


31 


Dust of the Desert 


33 


The Prose Author and the Poet 


34 


To Little Stanley Jim 


36 


The Lost Thought 


37 


The Rainbow of Hope 


38 


The Little Streamlet 


39 


To THE Stars 


40 


An Extravaganza to * * 


42 


Mrs. D. McFalls' Answer to Extra- 




vaganza to * * 


45 


Measure for Measure 


48 


In Answer to "Measure for Measure'' 


51 


Friendship 


54 


To a Silent Muse 


58 


The "Silent Muse'' Answer to Mrs. D. 




McFalls 


60 


Gems of Thought by the Wayside 


6a 


Lines 


63 


The Field of Culture 


64 


Lean on Me 


67 


Lines Addressed to a New Corres- 




pondent 


69 


Birth-Day Poem 


71 


A Photograph of Life 


72 


Retrospection 


73 


To My Beautiful Fern 


75 


Response 


76 


Forget-me-nots 


77 


Marie 


79 


Custer 


81 



23 



CONTENTS 

Tribute to Major Brennan 83 

Decoration 85 

The Old and the New 89 

A Question Poem 91 
Lines to Mrs. Helen Rich, St. Joseph Mo. 92 

Wake up 94 

Thanksgiving Anthem 95 

To My Genius 97 

A Tramp in Church 98 

Memorial Day 100 

In Response to "Youthful Days^' 102 

I am no Rude Iconoclast 104 

Spring 106 

Life's Boisterous Sea 108 

Hurrah for Hayes and Wheeler iio 

Condolence hi 

Buried in Flowers 113 
When the Mists Have Cleared Away 114 
Re-Echo to "When the Mists Have 

Cleared Away'' 116 

Edwin D. Clifton 118 

The Closing Year 120 

Woman's Sphere 123 

Storm King and Engineer 126 

Music 129 

Unrecognized, But Not Forgot 130 

Sympathy 131 
To THE Memory of Dr. S. N. Sherman 133 
Pencilings From One of the Thousand 

Islands 135 

To Our Soldiers 137 

To Helen McFalls Burdell 139 



24 



FORGET-ME-NOTS 



SILENT PRAYER 

Ye whose hearts are filled with gladness, 
Who, God's bounties richly share, 

Bless the light that gilds your pathway, 
Lift your heart in Silent Prayer. 

Or should clouds around you gather. 
Changing joy to dark despair. 

Light breaks through the misty morning, 
Joy returns in Silent Prayer. 

When the weak in faith are faltering. 
Bending 'neath their load of care, 

Oh sustain their tottering footsteps. 
Bid them trust in Silent Prayer. 

Skies peer out behind the cloud caps. 
Gemmed with colors rich and rare. 

Clouds may wear a silvery lining — 
Lift thy heart in Silent Prayer. 

Life's deceitful, false, and fickle. 
Weaving oft the tempter's snare, 

If we would escape its follies, 
We must trust in Silent Prayer. 

Traveler, on life's dreamy ocean, 
Weaving fancies, bright and fair. 

If you glide adown life smoothly, 
Guide thy course by Silent Prayer. 



27 



CHILDHOOD HOME 

Brother and I, 

There were only we two! 

My brother and I 

Who'd been petted and fondled 

As the years had gone by; 

By the Indian River, our dear 

Homestead stood, 

O'ershadowed by balsams 

Of evergreen wood 

Behind it, the orchard, 

The meadow and hill 

The barn and the rocks 

And the old grinding mill 

Before it the roadway, 

Laid out by the stream 

At the bend of the river 

Our childhood's first dream 

Where the home all unique 

By itself seemed to stand 

With its o'erarching eaves 

On its own titled land, 

'Twas a dignified home 

For the dear father's hand 

With a waive and a look 

Was a word of command ; 

And he brought to this home 

Very early in life 

One of nature's own children, 

A beautiful wife. 

And she was our mother 

Whose poetic mind 

In everything lovely 

Contentment could find. 

For nature had fashioned 

28 



In forming its plan 

At the bend of this river 

A loved haunt of man. 

E'en the row-boat seemed happy 

And rocked to and fro 

As if half impatient 

O'er the waters to go. 

As gleefully, gladly 

We pushed from the shore 

To beat the wild waves 

With the tip of the oar. 

As out on the bosom 

Of this beautiful stream 

We caught the first glimpse 

Of the poet's fond dream 

For nature has voices 

They speak from the deep 

And the secrets of childhood 

Forever will keep. 

Thus my brother and I 

Had a world all our own. 

Where nature's enchantments 

Around us were thrown! 

Thus we grew independent 

Because of the way 

We heeded but little 

The course others lay. 

But life has its span 

And when youth-time is o'er 

The gray mists will gather 

To cloud our life o'er 

While old Father Time 

With his cold, frosty mien 

And his visage of age 

On the face, will be seen. 

But the Indian River 

29 



Will flow on to the shore. 
Where our ancestors sleep 
By the home evermore. 
But the homestead so dear 
Has now gone to decay 
For Time's rusty fingers 
Are working alway. 
For the well curb is gone, 
And the porch looking o'er 
The beautiful flower beds 
That blossomed of yore! 
But the charm of that home 
That dear mother so fair 
With her white, snowy cap 
And her silvery hair, 
In her poetic nature 
Is lingering there. 



30 



BONNIE-CASTLE 

Ye moaning winds that round this island sweep, 

Ye rolling swells that murmur from the deep, 

What sad lament is borne upon the air 

Round Bonnie-Castle and her scenes so fair! 

But yesterday, all towering in her pride, 

This queen of beauty by the riverside. 

Robed in the brightness of a summer day, 

Lulled with sweet music where the waters play ; 

Adorned by lovely scenes, by nature blest, 

Where cultured genius found delightful rest. 

Here to repose where nature seemed to smile. 

And draw enchantment round this lovely isle ; 

Where art and nature, striving to outvie 

In light and beauty, drew the wanderer nigh; 

Here on the rocks in little basins laid, 

The flowerets blossomed in the grateful shade. 

Kissed by the sunbeams, watered by the spray 

Of proud St. Lawrence coursing on her way. 

Oh, Bonnie-Castle, sad be thy lament 

O'er death's untimely frost so early sent; 

E'en lovely nature moistens with a tear. 

And dewdrops gather round the silent bier. 

The trailing vines unclasp their fond embrace 

And droop in mourning 'round this lovely place. 

While tender mosses, springing up before 

From slightest pressure, seem to rise no more; 

Mourning perchance, as lifeless things may weep. 

In drowsy slumber not in endless sleep. 

Nature inanimate may revive again 

And know no sorrow, feel no mortal pain ; 

But grief wears furrows through the saddened heart, 

And life grows weary when the loved ones part. 

E'en the poor mastif? whining at the door 

Scents for the footprints that return no more ; 



31 



While fleet "Camilla," restless in her pride, 
Sways half impatient on the foaming tide. 
Thus not for faded flowers this sad refrain, 
But inspiration, waking not again. 
For robed in all thy beauty. Nature, know 
No more of greatness genius can bestow 
To this fair isle, where deathless, envied fame 
Binds brightest laurels round good Holland's name. 



32 



DUST OF THE DESERT 

"An Affliction But Not Impure^' 

There's many a desert in life, dear friend, 

Vast swelling, thro' clouds unseen, 
But never a cloud of dust so dense. 

But a calm will come between; 
And a breath of pure, sweet air float in, 

With life's reviving power 
O'er the desert sands, as pure and sweet 

As spring's refreshing shower; 
While Arabian desert's royalty dust 

Of Ptolemie's withered prime, 
Will float away with the desert sands. 

With the delicate sweets of other lands, 
Away thro' the realms of time. 
And so, let the beautiful Nile flow on, 

In the swell of ancient lore, 
WTiile travelers, we, glide on thro' the sands, 

Till time shall be no more. 



33 



THE PROSE AUTHOR AND THE POET 

Bent to his task, his head bowed down, 

The author seemed to wear a frown 

His mind was struggling for the tho't, 

His eager visions vainly sought. 

A poet came along that way 

And to the author turned to say, 

What makes you work so hard to bring 

To light, your mental reasoning? 

Your thinking powers must have their play 

In nature's prompt, suggestive way. 

You tax your mind in worrying long, 

Why don't you weave them into song? 

The author rubbed his fevered brow 

And said, I wish you'd tell me how. 

You try too hard, the poet said 

Use easier terms for prose instead. 

It may be grand in lofty strain 

To seek for that, and seek in vain. 

In poet lore our visions lie, 

Like snow flakes fluttering through the sky. 

We catch them, as they are flying by. 

And let our pens the medium be 

To work the problems easily. 

We have a sort of thieving way 

Extracting juices where they lay. 

We cull the flowers, the essence take 

From prose along the lines you make 

Your cultured tho'ts your dreams we chime. 

And thread them into verse of rhyme 

Thus in our field we work together 

Through time and tide and know not whether 

The products of our minds will be 

Received with friendly courtesy. 

"Not always gilded spurs are worn 



34 



The brighter by the better born!" 
The author raised his eyes and said 
Jocosely, have you lost your head? 
Oh! no, the poet made reply 
The difference lies 'twixt you and I 
Now which the genius do you know? 
We've neither of us much to show 
If we were not or if we were 
We'll leave it to the publisher. 



35 



TO LITTLE STANLEY JIM 

Baby mine: behind time's curtain 

I can see thy dear, sweet face 

Nestled softly in love's bosom 

Sleeping in a warm embrace 

O! if all the love I cherish 

In my heart for thee and thine 

Thou couldst know, thou'd know, dear baby 

How love's links around thee entwine : 

And when time shall lift his curtain 

And thy lovely face I see 

Thou wilt know the ties that bind thee 

Ever fondly unto me! 

Grandma. 
And then another baby came 
And little Fummy was his name 
And then! the love we had before 
Was all we had, we had no more 
From Stanley then we had to take 
Some love away, for Fummy's sake 
But first the mother all the same 
Had all the love that will remain. 



36 



THE LOST THOUGHT 

Why! where is it g;one? 

It has vanished before me 

The drift of my song 

Why didn't I seize it? 

A vision will fade 

Unless the foundation 

Most quickly is laid 

'Twas a bright dream of fancy 

Delusively plaj^ed. 

With the tips of the fingers 

Where genius is laid. 

It has gone beyond vision 

Away and away 

To the plains of forgetfulness 

Forever to stay. 

And I called up my reason 

And searching it o'er 

The chambers of memory 

I vainly explore. 

O, where has it gone? 

I would thread it in song 

To carry the vein of my metre along 

It's just like a link 

That gets out of a chain 

You cannot replace it 

And hold it again 

Good bye to yon thought 

We can gather some more 

In the realm of genius 

We love to explore! 



37 



THE RAINBOW OF HOPE 

O! Say! do you see it? 

What beautiful rays 

The Rainbow of Hope, 

In its promise displays. 

It is rich, to enjoy it, 

To feel the bright glow 

If only a moment 

It falls here below: 

No matter how great 

The aspiring may be 

Or how small we may hope 

The fulfillment to see! 

Oh! beautiful hope! — 

If forever you'd stay 

In your many toned colors 

To brighten life's way 

If we could but clasp thee 

And hold thee to see 

Through fathomless ages 

Whate'er is to be 

O! it's easy to catch it 

Hope's rainbow above 

But the world would deprive you 

Of all that you love! 



38 



THE LITTLE STREAMLET 

A little streamlet found its way 

Adown the mountain side 

It sparkled in the sun's bright ray 

In all its native pride. 

A mighty ocean rolled along 

In all its majesty 

Unmindful of the little stream 

That wended to the sea! 

But not a verdant spot was seen 

Along old ocean's way, 

While nature spread her mantle green 

Where'er the streamlet lay! 



39 



TO THE STARS 

An Extravaganza 

Or How the Poets got after Each Other 

A poet in Portland fell in love with the stars 

And the planets and moon 

With its broad level bars: 

And his soul was so full of the beautiful rays 

That night in its glory 

So richly displays 

That away went his thoughts 

All illumined by light 

To regions above 

Mid the phantoms of night. 

His theme was exalted 

He thought he must reach 

The grandest and highest 

Expressions of speech. 

So he gilded his pen 

On the moon's golden bars 

And wrote 

An extravaganza to the stars! 

And I was afraid that in soaring 

So high, the poet might some day 

Get lost in the sky! 

So checking his speed 

I essayed to say 

Hello! over there, 

You've got out of the way? 

And an echo came back 

From whom, I don't know. 

Not even a postscript 

Had aught that would show 

And I studied it long 



40 



And I studied it o'er 

Of this poet who wanted 

In heaven to soar! 

Just listen a moment 

And hear his reply 

Hello! who are you? 

That's sending your arrows 

The universe through? 

Your voice is so faint 

I scarcely can hear. 

It must be you're dwelling 

In some other sphere! 

And I made reply 

O, I am a vision 

That floats in the sky. 

And I sat on a cloud 

When it saw you pass by. 

But I never can show you 

For this reason I fear 

You'd be writing me stanzas 

And calling me dear. 

And the Portland echo made reply, 

Well that is you, and this is I. 



41 



AN EXTRAVAGANZA TO * * 

I met you by the merest chance 

Beside an humble cottage door. 
Thy first fond look and loving glance 

Taught me to love you — yea, adore. 

Is love but fancy — but a dream — 

Or is it some magnetic power 
Transmitting that which first did seem, 

To real form, from hour to hour? 

My love to me is more than earth. 
More than all the world beside; 

Without it life hath naught of mirth 
When love is not, all hope hath died. 

If every sand upon the shore 

Were each a gem or priceless pearl, 

Fde give them all, yea o'er and o'er, 
To win thy love, my darling girl. 

If every star which gems the throne. 
And glistens in the crown of night, 

Were each a ruby and my own 

I'de give them thee with sweet delight. 

To wni thy love I'd game with fate ; 

Yea, stake my soul upon the throw. 
I'd su£fer torture, scorn and hate — 

All joy on earth I would forego. 

My being form a living wire 

To stretch throughout all coming time, 
And inch by inch I would expire 

So I might claim thy love sublime. 



42 



Yea more than this, had I the power, 
(With fifty years before I died,) 

I'd give a year for every hour 

That fate would grant me at thy side. 

Had I a hundred lives to live, 

Each to be filled with joyous glee, 
I'd give them all, yes freely give, 

For one sweet hour, my love, with thee. 

R 
A REPLY 

We met by chance, 'midst stars it seems; 
Your vision was not one of dreams. 
You had not sought the cottage door 
A rambling bard, you seemed no more. 
To fall in love with one at sight 
Betrays a foolish heart and light. 
A love sick wight, me thinks thou art, 
Without sincerity of heart ; 
Setting the prize by far too high, 
That nought on earth beneath the sky 
Had moved thee, as within the hour 
You stealthily sought a lady's bower, 
And half concealed within the door, 
Too rudely scanned her features o'er, 
'Till in thy mad, confused brain 
Awoke thy soft, sweet, honied strain. 
Come forth from out the misty glen. 
With better phrase employ thy pen. 
Leave of? this love-sick melody, 
And come, acquaint thyself with me. 
Be not enamored by a glance 
From maiden eyes, that beam by chance. 
They may like dazzling sun-beams play 
And lead thy wildering thoughts astray. 
But when thou earnestly desire 
43 



To win a maiden's love, aspire 

To nobler thoughts, to higher themes 

Than dimpled smiles or fancied dreams. 

Seek thou in womanhood to find 

The noble graces of the mind, 

And then, if thou should'st worthy be, 

ni freely give my love to thee. 

I ask no golden sands from shores 

Of peerless gems or priceless ores; 

No penance due, no mocking art 

By which to win this youthful heart: 

But this I ask — a pledge as true 

As that I freely pledge to you: 

A moral soul as clear and bright 

As stars that gem the crown of night. 

Then wake thy poet strains to me, 

I'll hail with joy thy roundelay. 



44 



MRS. D. McFALLS' ANSWER TO EXTRAV- 
AGANZA TO * * 

The poem which you criticise 

Hath found small favor in your eyes, 
This I regret — in truth I own 

My prudence must have quite o'erflown 
All bonds of reason or romance, 

Though "not enamored by a glance." 
But to be frank 'tween you and me 

I gave the rein to fancy free — 
Which on its tireless wing of light 

To realms of dream-land took its flight. 
Free as a bird it flew away — 

'Twas fancy led my "thoughts astray," 
I dreamed of one I had not seen 

A thought-created fairy queen, 
Whose image shall forever stand 

Spotless and pure from God's great hand. 
Could I but see a human face 

With such angelic, perfect grace, 
Of queenly form and heavenly mien 

(Who are alone in fancy seen) 
With grace which rivals every art 

A mind serene and guileless heart — 
In fact an Angel from above, 

Then I should madly "fall in love." 
Though I'm a timid youth I own, 

And o'er my head few years have flown 
Yet girls or women, (all the same) 

Don't often set my heart aflame. 
But if this perfect one I find, 

With gentle heart and noble mind, 
(A lovely face too — I prefer) 

I'd bankrupt love, in loving her. 
For what she gives in love each day, 

45 



Ten thousand fold I will repay, 
For every good and noble thought 

I'll pay in acts which Christ has taught 
We all should do; and daily bring 

A true heart's noblest offering. 
'Tis true in vain I e'er have sought 

A being, perfect as my thought; 
But when I found her not on earth 

In fancy's realm I gave her birth. 
A maid all pure with naught that mars, 

I sought her home amid the stars 
I said we met at cottage door — 

(This was a figure nothing more, 
A license of poetic lore), 

But it was on that perfect shore 
Where all is purity and bright 

Within the realm of starlit night. 
I love to think of grander forms 

Who live above all earthly storms — 
Above the withering blight of wrong — 

(Such maids exist alone in song.) 
I love on fancy's wings to fly 

Above base earth to that pure sky 
Where Angels dwell in perfect bliss 

Free from all taint of world like this. 
Now I'll descend from stars above 

To talk to thee of earthly love, 
And first of all I will agree 

That my young heart though full of glee, 
Is from all guile both pure and free, 

I am a saint? or hope to be. 
If you accept on terms like these 

I'll strive with all my best to please, 
And you shall have each "priceless pearl" 

I said I'd give the other "girl," 
And rubies rare and jewels bright 

46 



Which deck the crown of starlit night, 
Provided that each precious stone 

"Were each a ruby and my own." 
But I'll take back that "wire" so long 

Of which I sung in the former song, 
As I now prefer when I die some day 
To do so in a Christian way. 



47 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE 

TO ECHO 

You said you'd really like to know 

How correspondent looked — and so 

I think I'll have to break the spell 

Of beauty, which you picture well. 

I much regret you only care 

For perfect charms and beauty rare; 

Because I feel, and quickly see, 

You ne'er would "bankrupt love" for me, 

I was not formed in beauty's mould, 

And here, my poet friend, you're sold. 

The humble truth I can't disguise, 

Though you my look and mien despise. 

I'm old and ugly — on my face 

The lines of deep drawn care I trace. 

My brow is furrowed, and I feel 

The weight of years around me steal. 

My once elastic step has grown 

To weary pace, unlike my own. 

The flush of youth, the smile I wore 

Have passed away. The day is o'er 

When I can hope to win one thought 

With kindly admiration fraught. 

From hearts that only love the hour; 

They wake and throb at beauty's power. 

And you, my friend, howe'er so fair, 

Will fading beauty's signet wear; 

As you, like me, will come to know 

Life's changes as we onward go. 

Forgive me if I woke one strain 

Through which thy heart would seek in vain 

Aught that could rival near or far 

The beauty of the "rising star," 

48 



And yet me thinks I know of worth 

E'en here, in this cold, dismal earth, 

As pure, as spotless, and as free 

From taint, as ever saint could be; 

And tell me not, when you were bound 

In wedlock's chains , you had not found 

An earth-born angel, one as bright 

As ever gemmed the crown of night. 

One who, through life, would ever be 

The guiding star, that guided thee. 

I see 'twas thy poetic lore 

That wafted thee to that fair shore, 

On wings of fancy, not of love, 

To revel mid the stars above ; 

And like all fancied things that reign 

You sought the loves of earth again. 

"Oh, happiness! How far we flee 

Thine own sweet paths in search of thee;" 

Me thinks the earth has maidens fair 

As pure and true as angels are; 

And if there is not moral worth 

In man who dwells upon this earth. 

Then let the tempest roar and hurl 

Destruction o'er this sin-cursed world, 

With all its wealth and pearls and flowers, 

Its shady lawns and lovely bowers. 

Its towering spires, its christian light. 

Hurl every living thing in night. 

I would not live an hour and know 

I could not find in man below 

A soul that did not feel the fire 

Of noble, just and pure desire. 

Worthy all friendship — worthy 

Refined, exalted, perfect love. 

But to return — in sportive glee 

I only sought to rail at thee, 



49 



I feared the tortures you'd forego, 
Your realm of reason might o'erthrow, 
And would not have you thus expire 
On that prolonged exhaustless "wire." 
And pardon me if I should say 
I see that at some future day, 
Nor distant time — a day ere long — 
They'll rank you with the Bards of Song. 
And now to end this lengthy lay 
My poet friend, once more I say. 
Dream not your correspondent fair 
My eyes are green, and gray my hair. 
You'd better keep those "priceless pearls" 
For fairer charms, and lovlier girls. 
And do not lay them at my shrine; 
They'd illy deck this brow of mine. 
These lines, some recompense may be 
My friend, in undeceiving thee. 
'Tis strange that you and I were wed 
Before those "honied words were said ; 
And stranger still that we should feel. 
We ne'er would change our present weal ; 
Our tried, our true, our faithful love. 
For charms below or charms above, 
Yet vision, oft unsent, will soar 
And fields of earth and heaven explore; 
On tireless wing, it oft has flown. 
Seeking some semblance of its own. 



50 



IN ANSWER TO "MEASURE FOR 
MEASURE" 

To Mrs. D. McF. Echo 

Now, to my kind, poetic friend 
These lines of greeting I would send, 
And beg, as you have owned to me, 
That you shall my confessor be. 
To tell the plain, unvarnished truth, 
Judged by my years, I am no youth, 
With rosy cheeks and curly hair — 
For I too, wear the marks of care. 
Some forty winters now have shed 
Their snows upon my aging head. 
And as those years have swiftly flown 
Times' hand among my locks has strown 
The silver threads of whitening age 
Like lines upon life's written page. 
Though time has kindly dealt by me 
Still I've not been from sorrow free. 
Old age strides on at rapid pace, 
And carves its lines upon my face 
As if it wrote in life's strange book, 
Where all may read if they but look. 
And see how two-score fleeting years 
Have worn deep channels for my tears. 
Nor have I e'en a Grecian nose 
As you undoubtedly suppose — 
No, its a Roman — (so to speak) 
Resembling much an eagle's beak. 

*****♦• 

That I am "undeceived" is true — 

I thought your eyes were laughing blue; 

But fate, more kind than I had thought, 



51 



Sends one great boon for which I've sought, 

And lavishly my fairy queen 

Adorns, with "eyes" of lovely "green." 

I love diversity so well 

That language lacks all power to tell 

The pleasure which such "eyes" inspire — 

They fill me with ambition's fire 

To win the prize you offer me — 

Because I seek variety. 

I've loved all kinds of every age, 

From simp'ring miss to matron sage — 

And every style, from grave to gay, 

Has o'er my heart held perfect sway. 

But, no ! I will not tell a lie, 

(Although I could if I should try.) 

I must except — (it wounds my pride, 

Therefore I'll whisper it — aside — ) 

Yes — I must own the truth, alack! 

I never loved one with hunch back. 

Nor one whose red hair all a-blaze 

Was her bright-shining, crowning praise — 

Nor one — (I beg you'll not despise 

This woeful lack of enterprise — ) 

I never pined, with heaving sighs 

Before deep "green," or sweet cross-eyes. 

Although for twenty years I've prayed 

That fate would send a hump-backed maid. 

(I do not jest, but speak plain truth — 

One who'd had rickets in her youth — ) 

If only for a little while 

'Till I adored her shape and style. 

I'm sorry that your "hair is gray;" 

Without disguise I'll frankly say: 

I wish — well let the truth be said — 

I wish your silvery locks were red ; 

Because through years of dark despair 



52 



I've sought a girl with blazing hair. 

It grieves me that you're tall and slim, 

And that your eyes are growing dim — 

For I had pictured in my mind 

That she for whose love I had pined, 

And longed with sweet, expectant bliss, 

Would be a dumpy, dimpled miss; 

But now, alas, it comes to this — 

That she whose lovely lips I'd kiss 

Is far too tall : also I find 

That like all loves, mine too, is blind. 

No, she is of a different mould. 

Therefore I see, that I am "sold." 

Yes in my love's so ardent strength 

I've sought her long, a.nd find at length, 

The angel whom I saw in song 

Is now, in short, by far too long. 

Ah, now I see when all is past. 

To what queer lengths, love comes at last. 

If nature had my love endowed 

With these four charms, I should be proud. 

Were she humped like Duke of Gloster, 

I'd search Hades if e'er I lost — her. 

Were she cross-eyed like old Ben B. — 

I'd love, if she were a Chinee — 

But if her "windows of the soul" 

Had verdant hues from nature stole, 

And if she, too, had fiery hair. 

Then Heav'n had answered ev'ry prayer. 

Wlien I, at zenith of my pride — 

Could live serene — die satisfied. 



53 



FRIENDSHIP 

TO T. J, R. 

I know not why in mem'ry's chain 

One lingering tho't would ere remain 

So thoughtlessly, addressed to thee 

In lightsome mood, all sportively 

To while an idle hour away; 

Thus musingly of ling'ring day 

When tho't on tho't in imagery 

Seemed bound to soar in revery. 

Yet this I own: I friendship find 

In thoughts congenial to my mind. 

"The flash of wit, the beam of song," 

Floating in native grace along, 

Attract mine eye, and pleasantly 

My thoughts flow forth responsively, 

And mingling with those happy themes, 

Am lost in meditative dreams, 

Nor care from whence those gems of thought 

May spring, all lovely and unsought, 

For falling like a rainbow gleam 

Across my path they brightly beam 

And wake betimes, some stirring strain 

To echo back the tho't again. 

Whether of prose, or poet lore. 

Thoughts flow in sweetness ever o'er 

A dreamy hour, and lightly bear 

The mind above its load of care. 

Deep'ning in eloquence, we find 

The brilliancy of other's mind 

Guilding our own, like perfumed flowers, 

Or earth's reviving, copious showers, 

Or friendship thus innately grown 

Speaking in language, all its own. 



54 



As woodland murmurs oft prolong 
The breezy leaflet's ruptling song, 
Till lost upon some distant shore, 
They cease to vibrate, evermore. 

TO MRS. D. McF. 

I turn aside from worldly strife, 

To write one page for our book of life 

Whose leaves are opened day by day, 

And to my friends am pleased to say — 

Ah, yes, you guess my heart aright 

When you suppose I could indite. 

Nought but to censure vice and wrong 

In any verse of prose or song. 

Or even for one moment stray 

From rule of right so far away 

As to o'erlook in act or thought 

A deed or word with kindness fraught, 

And if I read our stars aright 

I think we both may truly plight 

An honest heart, that each shall find 

True worth in noble, upright mind. 

I know in many thoughtless ways 

We oft bestow the highest praise 

Of gilded, hollow, empty show, 

While real worth oft sinks too low — 

Beneath the ban of servile cant 

Which often flouts with boisterous rant 

At homely, plain humanity, 

(True ensign of nobility). 

And with irreverence doth inveigh 

'Gainst virtues which would far outweigh 

A thousand worlds of empty fame 

Which doth exist alone in name, 

And yet there is throughout the land 



55 



Nobility, sublimely grand, 

As to resist all taint of wrong. 

One heart like this clad with the right, 

Will put a hundred wrongs to flight, 

And rout a legion, base and vile, 

Which courts success through evil's wile. 

To poetic lore 1 lay small claim, 

And can't expect to write my name 

Among the bards of great renown 

High on Parnassus' rounded crown. 

But still I love to scale the heights 

Of noble thoughts in fancy's flights, 

And when my muse has homeward flown 

Ambition's thoughts have been my own. 

But when you say "sometime ere long 

They'll rank me with the bards of song." 

Or that your friend shall stand some day 

Among those names that live alway, 

A praise which I appreciate, 

Though I expect a humbler fate. 

How strange that every earnest mind 

Should range the world hoping to find 

In some true breast, a trusting heart 

Of which his is the counterpart. 

Yet through all space in earth or sky 

On restless pinions it will fly 

To find that heart whose pulsing tone 

Shall beat harmonious with his own. 

I speak not only of love's fires, 

But of like thoughts and great desires 

Which mould true hearts and shape their course, 

Giving to each its vital force. 

Each truly noble, loyal soul. 

Finds its own path, seeks its own goal 

Through that true bond of sympathy 

In which alone two souls agree. 

56 



And yet both bears its stamp of fate 

By which each one shall know its mate. 

Such hearts are ever near akin — 

No waste of time friendship to win. 

Each knows its own by instincts sweet 

When by some sign they frankly greet, 

Both recognize the friend long sought 

By some free-masonry of thought. 

Through that queer light which fancy lends 

Two hearts are often joined as friends, 

And cherishing each other's fame 

They are true friends in fact and name — 

(Though they ne'er met for good or ill, 

And perchance they never will.) 

Not friends, as life is understood, 

But in that broader brotherhood 

Which seeing not, feels with delight 

Our pulse-beat, in the thoughts we write. 

Strange riddle this to dwell or wise — 

Yet often doth the tell-tale eyes 

Incautiously a truth reveal 

Which we most gladly would conceal. 

Two strangers passing on the street — 

Their eyes converse when first they meet. 

Though thy lips make no reply 

The truth is spoken by the eye. 

Which scorns restraint — defies control 

As through those "windows of the soul" 

Each one may look and surely find 

The secrets of the heart and mind. 

The friendship you express for me 

Most gladly I accept from thee, 

And in return I pledge to you 

A wajTvard heart, though warm and true, 

And thank the fate which kindly sends 

Life's choicest gift, true hearted friends. 



57 



TO A SILENT MUSE 
To T. J. R. 

Are you lost among the echoes 
That have floated on the air? 

Tones that swept along thy harp strings 
In a metre rich and rare. 

Have the bright ideas vanished 
That filled thy thoughts of yore? 

With their echoes, far receding, 
Die upon the distant shore? 

Has the earth with all its beauty, 

As beneath the autumn sky, 
Lost the charm that once could waken 

Beauteous visions in thine eye? 

Though the verdure and the blossoms 
Droop and fade o'er hill and plain. 

Will not fading nature waken 
Thy long slumbering muse again? 

Who can speak for their dumb natures? 

Who their grace and beauty tell, 
When the worshipers of nature 

Cease in musing there to dwell? 

Does the murmuring little streamlet, 
Winding 'round the pebbly shore 

No more waken brightest fancies 
In thy vision as of yore? 

Though the air is chill, and robins 
Plume their wings and fly away. 

Other birds with winter plumage 
Court thy fond, admiring lay. 

58 



Wake, ye silent muse, awaken; 

Nature lists to catch the strain. 
Fling it forth in varied measure; 

Let thy harp strings wake again. 

Clear and pure and bright and sparkling 
Does the murmuring streamlet flow; 

Never ceasing, eddying, curling, 
Whirling, foaming, on they go. 

Wild winds sing and wild birds warble. 
Though with frost the saplings bow; 

Each their native dirge repeating. 
Why, O, why, so silent thou. 

Fare thee well, if on life's pages 
We no more may catch the swell 

Of thy bright, poetic fancies. 
Then forever, fare thee well. 



59 



THE "SILENT MUSE'S" ANSWER TO 
MRS. D. McFALLS 

BY J. T, REYNOLDS. 

Dec, 1875. 

Were I "lost among the echoes" 

Which float outward on life's plain, 

Words like yours would wake my "harpstrings' 

To new life and hope again. 

Had those "bright ideas vanished" 
From the mind of th' "silent muse," 
You would say ray wits "receding" 
If an answer I refuse. 

Had "the earth's" resplendent "beauty" 
Faded out from plain and hill 
My poet friend hath charms "t' waken" 
"Beauteous visions in" me still. 

"Though the verdure and the blossoms" 
Fail to wake poetic strain. 
Still my heart for thy remembrance 
Would echo back a sweet refrain. 

None "can speak for earth's dumb natures" 
WTien the poet no more writes. 
Though to him all earth is vocal 
Who ascends Parnassus' heights. 

Every "murmuring little streamlet" 
Would flow in silence to the sea 
Did not the poet in his "fancies" 
O'erhear their purling songs of glee. 

60 



Though the blue-bird and the "robins" 
"Plume their wings" for fairer climes, 
In mem'ry's groves I see their "plumage" 
And in fancy hear their chimes. 

Th' slumb'ring muse doth now "awaken" 
T' echo back your kindly words 
That you may partly know "th' measure" 
T' which his harp-strings have been stirred. 



6i 



GEMS OF THOUGHT BY THE WAYSIDE 

What makes the glittering sand so bright 
So sparkling and clear, a luminous light 
In the eventide glow 
O'er the world here below? 

What makes the light flicker 
In shadows that play 
O'er the earth where the moon's 
Golden I'nes seem to lay? 

What makes all the gems 
In the pathway that lay 
All clothed in the garments 
Of nature's array. 

The beautiful blossoms 
With fragrance so sweet 
The soft velvet mosses 
That lay at our feet? 

The murmurs of waters 
The sands of the sea 
The shades of the forest 
The leaflet and tree? 
What made them ? 
The Creator. 



62 



LINES 

Dear friends at home, thy kind regards, 

Shall long remembered be, 
And all the happy hours we've passed. 

So pleasantly with thee. 

Though other scenes may be as fair, 
And friends as kind and true, 

Yet deep within our hearts will live, 
Fond memories of you. 

We'll not forget the kindly hands, 
That smoothed the bed of pain. 

Though w^e, perchance, will never meet 
With those dear friends again. 

Nor may they know when sorrow's hour 

Assails our lonely cot; 
But though afflictions often come 

You shall not be forgot. 

Could we forget our early home 

And each familiar spot, 
Forget the happiest hour of life; 

Then you could be forgot. 

Here in return for kindly thoughts 
Let kindly thoughts be given, 

That through faith, hope and love 
May we unite in heaven. 



63 



THE FIELD OF CULTURE 

Lines read at the opening of the Gouverneur Free 
Reading Room, Jan. lU, 1886 

Here let us take our onward way, 

And cull life's sweets as day by day 

We seek to garner up some truth, 

Or stamp upon the mind of youth 

An impress that may lasting be 

For time and for eternity. 

The pleasures of refinement spring 

From every pure and lovely thing, 

As rays of light will softly fall 

With radiant beams o'er one and all; 

For master minds have cleared the way 

Through which our eager thoughts can stray. 

And here's the field of culture where 

We've sown the choicest seeds with care — 

And who would classic fields explore, 

Will find enough of ancient lore; 

Or who'd survey the present age, 

Can find it in historic page, 

Of legends old, or history new. 

Here is a full supply for you; 

And here, for mental rest you'll find 

The lighter reading for the mind ; 

For every age, from young to old. 

These volumes will the truth unfold, 

'Till every impulse of the heart 

Into new life and being start. 

This cultured field will ope to you 

Ideal life, and you'll pursue 

A nobler course, a higher theme, 

To fill the vision of life's dream. 

If mind, with prosy matter rife, 

64 



Would catch the sweeter tones of life, 

Here can Parnassus' heights ascend, 

Where rays of beauty softly blend, 

While eventide, in mellow glow, 

Softly pervades the earth below. 

Here, inspiration's whispering tone. 

Speaks in a language all its own, 

From British bards to later days. 

The poet's wand its power displays — 

To roam the starry spheres above. 

And revel in diviner love. 

Here Milton, Dryden, Cowper play 

In thought's sublimest, clearest ray, 

And Young, as by a magic wand, 

Has touched the heart in every land. 

This cultured field will yearly grow 

From seedlings buried long ago ; 

Here Tennyson, in melting strain. 

Has beautified the hill and plain, 

'Till every fibre of our hearts 

Is moved with thoughts his pen imparts 

"As love within his glowing hands. 

Is shaken into golden sands;" 

And Shakespeare will to mind portray 

The highest form of imagery; 

While Longfellow and Whittier's dream 

Will fill you with poetic theme. 

Or Mrs. Heman's, sadly sweet, 

Will bring you kneeling at her feet, 

And turn you from your careless way, 

In paths of cultured fields to stray. 

Here, then, this dedication day 

In kindness I would feel, to say 

It needs no prophet to presage. 

This field of culture will engage 

The leisure hours, and help to stay 

65 



The streams of vice that bridge our way, 

And manly influence will aid 

'Till every form of sin is staid. 

And light, and truth, and every grace, 

Shall make this room their dwelling place. 



66 



LEAN ON ME 

Mother, thou art growing feeble 

Year by year, a change I see. 
Can 1 stay life's waning current? 

Mother, dearest, lean on me. 

I am strong, while thou art failing; 

All thy wasting strength I bear. 
I have been so fondly nourished 

By thy constant, daily care. 

Childhood's scenes are not forgotten, 
Much — nay all — I owe to thee. 

Now in manhood's strength I pray thee, 
Mother, dearest, lean on me. 

Life wears on and age seems pressing 

Lines of care upon thy brow. 
Will thou cast life's burthens on me? 

Wilt thou trust me, mother now? 

I will try the ways of fortune, 

I will labor now for thee, 
I will strive as thou hast striven. 

Mother, dearest, lean on me. 

Thou hast taught me many a lesson 
Which my fortune guide will be; 

Filled my mind with grand aspirings, 
Mother, dearest, lean on me. 

Oh! that time could ever change thee! 

Still thy stately form I see, 
Graceful, loving, kind and tender. 

Mother, dearest, lean on me. 

67 



And when age shall press thy forehead, 
It shall be my manhood's pride 

To support thy faltering footsteps, 
Standing firmly by thy side. 

Life is brief, but round it centres 

Many a hallowed memory. 
Now while shades of evening gather 

Mother, dearest, lean on me. 



68 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A NEW 
CORRESPONDENT 

"There's beauty all around our paths, 
If but our watchful eyes 
Could trace it to familiar things, 
And in its lowly guise." 

There's beauty in a single word 
That oft th' coldest heart has stirred 
And even children's thoughts may move 
The deepest fountains of our love, 
I caught just now this loving strain 
And would repeat it once again : 
A kiss for papa, and good night; 
From Robbin came in accents light, 
And glancing on the upturned face, 
A love for thee I quickly trace 
Stealing my very heart — away 
Our lovely child amid her play, 
I clasp her now in fond embrace, 
Imprint a kiss upon her face, 
And check awhile her childish glee, 
To turn her thoughts away to thee. 
Then when I speak of one so dear, 
Her dark eyes glisten with a tear. 
In trembling voice she asks me then 
When will papa be home again. 
I stroke her hair and gently smile. 
And thus her troubled thoughts beguile, 
And fondle with her doll and toys. 
And mingle in her childish joys, 
Till I, too, in our sportive glee 
Had almost ceased to think of thee. 
To think of thee? No! in our home 
Thy image dwells, where'er thou roam, 

69 



And memory with a lengthened chain 
Of life's events, of joy or pain, 
Return and thrilling through the heart. 
Still light, and love, and joy impart. 
I see the sunshine and the shade 
That oft in light and shadow played 
Around our path — yet lightly too, 
We stemmed life's fickle current through, 
And as the shadows passed away 
All brighter seemed the cloudless day. 



70 



BIRTH-DAY POEM 

TO AN ONLY DAUGHTER AT THE AGE OF 1 4 

Now fourteen summers round your head 

Dear "Bobbin," thus, have quickly fled 

And all, the world, to you, will seem 

Like one, continuous happy dream. 

To thee dear darling, I impart; 

The love that fills my inmost heart; 

The cherished hopes, the fond desires, 

To which a mother's heart aspires, 

I read within your little face 

The father's likeness I can trace 

All the deep love that heretofore 

Had filled my heart in days of yore; 

And now again returns in thee 

Looks sacred, then in memory; 

Time never changes, youth must glide 

From childhood's hour to Woman's Pride! 

And Love, that presence, must divine! 

Some time, dear child 

Will too be thine! 

Oh! God! I pray! this change 

May be a reign of bliss, dear one to thee. 



71 



A PHOTOGRAPH OF LIFE 

"Another day — another day, 
And yet another wears away;" 
Another year — another year, 
How soon the close of life draws near ; 
On fleeting wings the hours pass by, 
'Tis but a day, the end is nigh, 
'Tis but a step from youth to age 
We glide so swiftly down life's stage. 
And O! what scenes of joy and strife 
Are crowded in this one short life. 
The flashing eye, the dimpled cheek, 
The joy, the hopes of youth bespeak 
But all too soon maturer age 
Will stamp them with her signet sage. 
Too soon those velvet feet must press 
O'er rude, rough paths of ruggedness. 
Too soon that dimpled cheek will bear 
The furrowed trace of grief and care ; 
Too soon that stately form will bow, 
Too soon, will change that youthful brow 
And the elastic step give place 
To one more measured, lengthened pace 
Then let the bright, glad morn of youth 
Be stored with gems of fadeless truth, 
Calling each day, what needful be 
For this life, and eternity. 
O ! let the early years be fraught 
With only pure and lofty thought 
From all base lusts and groveling soar, 
Then when the scenes of life are o'er 
Return to God all pure and true. 
Pure as the snowflake or the dew. 
Bright as the sun, bright as the star, 
Without a stain thy life to mar. 



72 



RETROSPECTION 

I have stood in the gloom of the evening, 

At close of a jvearisome day, 
And longed for the dav^^n of the morning. 

When the clouds vv^ould vanish aw^ay. 

I've watched for the glow of the sunshine. 
That would break through the gloom of the night, 

Till my heart was weary with waiting. 
To welcome the dawning of light. 

And oft through the mists I have wondered, 
Why round me deep shadows should fall, 

To cast o'er my spirits the mantle 
Of doubt, like a darkening pall. 

But the hopes and joys I had fostered. 
In dream-lands, appeared not to me. 

And the moment I thought I had clasped them 
The farther their presence would flee. 

While the visions of brightness I cherished, 

Like beacons of light far away, 
But lured me the farther from pleasures 

That followed my footsteps alway. 

The sunshine of life and its shadows 

So closely are blended in one 
That mists may obscure from our vision 

The rays of the bright rising sun. 

Then here is the moral of living; 

'Twere better, far better, each day 
To live in the joys of the present, 

While th' present is passing away. 

73 



Yet hopes that live but in the future, 
Though woven in haloes of light, 

May cheer us till life's span is wasted, 
Though always more distant their flight. 



74 



TO MY BEAUTIFUL FERN 

From the woodland I brought thee 

My beautiful fern! 

To place in my parlor 

Adorning an urn 

From nature's dominion 

So fresh and so fair 

To offer you freedom 

And tenderest care: 

I know you were sheltered 

All nice, in the shade; 

Where the winds of the forests 

And sunset have played, 

And I know that when rooted 

In mosses to grow 

You will droop in the clearing 

Of sunlight below; 

And I know that you sigh 

For the twilight and dew, 

And the moon and the stars 

That night spreads over you, 

So I give you your freedom 

And again I return 

To the shades of the forest 

My beautiful fern. 



75 



RESPONSE 

One bright day a stranger came 

Sought my cloistered, cool retreat 

Clasped me warmly as the summer 

Bore me to the noontide heat! 

Now I droop for I am lonely 

Far removed from desert air 

Though 'twere kindly hands that bore me 

To a clime more bright and fair 

I'm not born to joy or sorrow 

I'm not born to wisdom's power 

I that heed not the to-morrow 

Have no need of care to borrow, 

In sequestered green recesses 

Lowly, and content to grow 

Where no sunbeam ever blesses, 

There my feeble breath I drew 

Wreathing on, and wreathing ever 

Why and wherefore? Would I ask 

It was only my endeavor 

Mine, was Nature's lowly task. 



76 



"FORGETMENOTS " 

Over the graves where our soldiers are sleeping 
May flowers of beauty are springing once more, 

Nature's mementoes of kindly remembrance, 
Opening their petals, now cover them o'er. 

Through the green sward all their blue eyes are 
peeping, 

Wak'd by the warm, genial rays of the sun, 
Emblems of early and warm adoration, 

Breathing the freedom our heroes have won. 

Types of the morn, when the glad resurrection 
Breaks from the winter of long dreamy sleep. 

Crowning the braves with the joy of hereafter. 
Sealing the fountains where dewy eyes weep. 

Nature unchecked in her warm inspiration, 
Breathing through odors of beautiful flowers, 

Incense of love with intuitive flowers, 

Over the graves of these martyrs of ours. 

Typical blossoms of tender emotions, 

Springing from hearts where the .braves are 
enshrined ; 

Love for the heroes, where beautiful garlands 
Yearly above them are fondly entwined. 

Little "Forgetmenots" tinged with the ether. 
Wearing the robes of the heavenly blue. 

Kindly enriched in the soil which dear freedom 
Owes to the valiant, the brave and the true. 



77 



Blossom forever when springtime revives thee ; 

Fondly encircle the tomb of the braves, 
Tear drops shall w^ater, and patriot hands twine 
them, 

Garlands of beauty for moss-covered graves! 



78 



MARIE! 

While the battle was on at Ghancellorsville, 
near Munson Heights, a splendid battle horse from 
whom a Union officer had just been shot, galloped 
frantically into the Rebel lines, when the dashing 
General Gordon seized him by the rein and sprang 
instantly into the stirrup from his own o'er wearied 
horse 

And we would embalm 

You in song, Marie, 

Thou beautiful steed 

So fearless and free! 

I sent a Steed, a hero, too! 

Who faces the front of the battle through ? 

But why Marie, did you leave his side? 

When he loosened your rein 

And fell at your feet 

On the Battle Plain? 

He had stroked your mane 

With his gloved hand; 

Had been loyal, and true 

To his native land! 

And I blush, Marie, 

With shame to say 

You fled to the 

Rebel Lines away; 

From the Union ranks 

On that terrible day! 

Yet we honor the man 

Who is brave, and true 

To the cause he espouses, 

Whether the Gray or the Blue 

And we're glad that Gordon 



79 



Seized your rein 

And you passed to the hands 

Of a hero, again! 

And I'm glad that he 

Stroked your silken mane 

To foster your pride 

In the field again! 



80 



CUSTER 

"Oh War! thou hast thy fierce delight, 

Thy gleams of joy intensely bright, 

Such gleams, as from thy polished shield 

Fly dazzling o'er the battle field." 

'Tis fierce delight, when warriors feel 

The keen sharp edge of burnished steel 

And see that in their mad career 

There's lurking death and danger near. 

Too daring Custer, hadst thou known 

The danger round thy pathway thrown, 

Thy fearless brow had paled with fear 

Thy clarion voice had failed to cheer, 

Thou wouldst have seen the yawning graves 

That waited for thy coming braves, 

Thy braves who watched thy noble form 

Breast the fierce conflict and the storm, 

And felt secure that thou didst lead 

Their columns on to valorous deed. 

To die on battle field where strife 

In equal force combats for life, 

Were fierce enough, but oh, to be 

The victims of mad butchery. 

Oft man in his ambitious hour 

Sees not where dangers round him lower, 

But dashing on is lost to view 

Where mortal aid may ne'er pursue. 

Into the "jaws of death" they ride 

Reckless of aught that may betide 

"Right onward" where the followers come 

To meet their sure impending doom, 

Where tomahawk and scalping knife 

Are reeking red with human life. 

Where howling demons hold their reign, 

The victors of the bloody plain. 



Where mad ambition reckless still 
Followed the bent of dauntless will ; 
And rushing on in wild career 
Heedless of danger, void of fear, 
Pursued the course of 'wildering track, 
From whence, alas! they turned not back. 
But diving deep in forest glen. 
Became the prey of savage men. 
Brave to a fault, must Custer lay 
A mangled corpse of mouldering clay. 
While his brave followers side by side 
Oozed out their life's last ebbing tide. 
Brave Custer! thou wilt strive no more 
Thy rash ambitious course is o'er! 



82 



TRIBUTE TO MAJOR BRENNAN 

The following lines were written by Mrs. D. 
McFalls, wife of Surgeon Mc Falls of the H2d 
regiment, in which the late Major Brennan went 
to the front, as First Lieutenant of D Company, 
and won enduring and lasting tribute 

"An honest man's the noblest work of God," 

But oh ! how deeply do we feel the rod 

Of sore affliction, when the parting breath 

Shroud's honor's mantle with the pall of death. 

Lamented Brennan ! thus untimely lay 

Thy useful life, thy silent corse away. 

E'en at the post of duty, lay aside 

A nation's honors and a nation's pride. 

By irresistless, fathomless decree 

Of waning forces, all unknown to be. 

As through the realms of a stainless soul 

In misty visions, doubt and darkness roll. 

"Thus are we often on misfortune's shelves. 

Wrecked by some fate so all unlike ourselves." 

Man wants to school himself to harder fate 

Than sunny pastures, where but honors wait ; 

For justice will not always kindly give 

The meed of praise to those who nobly live — 

Nor calumny withhold its slimy breath 

That poisons feeling with the sting of death — 

And worth and merit, aye, and genius, too. 

Must battle for the right to right pursue. 

And gird the mind with strength and will and power 

To face misfortune in misfortune's hour. 

But all the past is o'er, and that to be 

Lies in the future life — Eternity! 

While founts of grief, that ne'er will wash away, 

Bedew with tears thy sacred memory. 

83 



The last farewell, the parting and the sighs, 

The broken hearts, the severed earthly ties — 

And yet in deathless fame, thy name will bear 

A nation's honor and its honors share 

Where flowers shall bloom amid the sparkling dew 

And yearly tribute pay its vows to you. 



84 



DECORATION DAY 

MEMORIAL POEM 

Forty-five years ago! and yet 

Our heroes live today, 

Endeared by ev'ry tie 

In sacred memory. 

The living and the dead alike 

Who, at the Nation's call, 

Laid every peaceful purpose by 

And rallied, one and all, 

To where this land imperiled seemed- 

This birthright of the free; 

This Union of the many states; 

This land of liberty. 

All radiant vi^ith the dyes of hope, 

All golden w^ith its wealth. 

All powerful when invasion comes 

In boldness or by stealth: 

As when the flash of cannons rent 

Fort Sumter's walls apart 

The lightning flash of Patriot fires 

Woke every loyal heart! 

Waking as winds in forests wake 

When threatening storms arise! 

Waking as boiling oceans wake 

Beneath the threatening skies; 

Waking as slumbering nature wakes 

WTien heaven's distilling shower 

Revives the dormant powers of life, 

And freshens for the hour ; 

So too loyal patriots fired anew. 

Throughout the broad domain. 

Came forth in all of manhood's pride 

To save the land again! 



85 



One impulse stirred the loyal heart 

Which loyal hearts must feel 

When challenged by the leaden hail, 

And by the glistn'ng steel. 

Could they allow a ruthless hand 

This lovely land to sever 

While o'er it floats the stars and stripes 

In Union's bonds? No! Never! 

One burst of indignation rose — 

And then in fevered heat; 

The signal for defensive war — 

The rush of many feet — 

Of seventy thousand troops to lead 

Six hundred thousand more ; 

Young men, in all the pride of life. 

Their hurried partings gave; 

Some to return ; and some to fill, 

Alas! the soldier's grave. 

While fathers left their little ones 

Around their hearths at play, 

And hastened, with a tear dim'd eye, 

Rebellion's hand to stay. 

Brave soldiers! On through weary march 

And o'er the dangerous sea. 

Till years of struggle, and of blood, 

Crowned them with victory! 

Oh, Glorious Union ! These have won 

A heritage of fame. 

E'en foreign nations bow to thee. 

And laud the patriot's name ; 

While thou, dear native land, can boast 

Of loyal hearts and true 

For half a million sleeping braves 

Have died, dear land, for you. 

On battle field, in prison pen 

The dying, wounded, half-starved men 

86 



Yielding to nature's slow decay 

Had blessed thee to their dying day. 

And shall we not, with lovely flowers, 

This day again renew 

Our tribute of regard for these 

Who nobly died for you ? 

Yes! by the garlands on these graves 

Thou shalt cemented be. 

And memories of the sacred dead 

Restore our unity. 

And long within our hearts shall live, 

Till freedom's reign is o'er, 

The chief commanders of the field 

Enshrined forevermore; 

While he who set the bondsmen free — 

His life the sacrifice to be — 

Living, though dead, shall sweetly sleep 

Endeared in memory. 

So may the soldiers live in peace 

And where our brothers sleep 

May flowers be wreathed by loving hands, 

And kindred yearly weep ; 

And unity forevermore. 

Linked by the golden band 

Of Love, and Hope, and Charity 

Unite us hand in hand — 

That underneath the Stars and Stripes 

This land may ever be united in one glorious 

song, 
The great asylum of all lands — 
The Land of Liberty! 

Oh, LTnion! By the kindred ties 

That brotherhood may feel! 

By all the hopes of future years 

That through their pulses steal! 

By all the sacrifice of Life 

87 

-J 



So nobly, freely given! 
By all the cords that held these true 
While not one star was riven! 
By all the Treasure lost for thee, 
Thou PRICELESS GEM of Liberty!! 

Live on! so shall thy future be 

United evermore; 

And peace and harmony pervade 

This land from shore to shore. 

Live on! All freshened by the breeze 

That northern regions bear; 

Live on! All tempered by the warmth 

Of balmy southern air; 

Live on ! Till ev'ry pulse shall beat 

In unison with thee; 

Thou Union of the many States! 

Thou Land of Liberty!! 



THE OLD AND THE NEW 

A foretaste of winter intensely severe 
Quick followed the advent of happy New Year, 
With a keen, cutting breath and sharp, biting sting 
It fastened its fangs like a venomous thing. 

Unlike the old year, which had balmy crept 
To its close by the ebbing of time, and then slept 
Like the hush of a murmur, or parting of breath 
Till its throbbing was lost in the stillness of death. 

While nature renewed in her genial embrace 
Brought forth winter blossoms in beauty and grace, 
And lilacs and roses, pale, lovely and rare, 
Perfumed with their sweet-scented breath the cool 
air. 



The moss roses sprang from their frost-covered bed, 
Then withered and died as the old year had fled; 
Thus nature and time sweetly blended in one 
Grew weary and set like the setting sun. 

Then frost king unwilling that summer should reign 
Adorning the meadow and woodland and plain 
Brought crystals and frosting, and beautifully wove 
Fantastic adornment through forest and grove. 

Not a twig but was dipped in the crystalized snow, 
Nor a dried, withered fern but was frosted below. 
Nor a Christmas tree during old Santa Claus' night 
But was clothed for the morrow all sparkling and 
bright. 

89 



Outvieing in beauty majestically grand 
The festal adornments by art's skillful hand. 
All hail! then old frost-king, and as you appear 
We yield you the reign of the coming New Year. 



90 



A QUESTION POEM 

Do you think the Creator 

In forming His Plan, 

In showering His favors 

Was partial to Man ? 

Do you think that the tides 

That flow out of the sea 

And wash on the shores 

Are there only for thee? 

Do you think that the coins 

Of invaluable worth 

Were intended for only 

A few upon earth? 

If we turn a deaf ear 

To the pitying cry 

Of the poor in the streets 

As we are passing them by. 

Do you think the Dear Father 

That reigneth on high 

Will ever have pity on you? 

If we try to be selfish and 

Narrow and vain 

To live for self only 

Then what can we gain? 

Do you think that God's 

Mercy forever will sleep 

Unveiled from our eyes 

In the fathomless deep? 

Oh! No! there'll be an awakening 

When the Father will say 

Come higher and show you the 

Life and the Way! 



91 



LINES TO MRS. HELEN RICH 
ST. JOSEPH, MO. 

(On receiving the portrait of her little namesake, 
Helen Rich Lyon) 

How like to thee, dear absent friend, 

The little face appears, 
With grandma's specs astride her nose. 

In mimicry of years. 

rd like to hold her in my arms 

And read the baby face. 
Till I could, in her future years, 

Thy perfect image trace. 

She creeps within my heart to-night 

With magic baby power 
As moved the fountains of our love 

In childhood's sunny hour. 

The sweet breath of the fragrant rose 

Delightful odors waft, 
But, I would press the baby's lips 

For nectar's sweetest draft. 

I'd lay the little velvet hand 

Upon my faded cheek 
And dream of my lost baby love 

Of which, in grief, I speak. 

O, that from thee and thine this life 

May not so soon depart, 
But live a joy of lengthened years 

All nestled in thy heart. 



92 



I turn my eyes from off these lines, 

And scan the portrait o'er, 
'Till thoughts inspiring impulse thrill 

My heart through every pore. 

So like to thee; nor thou, my friend, 

By beauty won my heart. 
But by that wealth of cultured thoughts 

Thy genial lips impart. 

I care not for gold that gilds 

The noblesse of power — 
I only kneel where wealth of thought 

In copious measures shower. 

Thus heart wakes heart's responsive chord 

Which, thrilling with delight, 
Doth touch the hidden spring within, 

And purest themes invite. 

So, I will graft her in my heart 

Until she grows, to be. 
As years float on, in face and form, 

A perfect type of thee. 

Then here's a kiss, I waft it thence 

Upon the wings of love 
And you may plant it on the brow 

With "grandma's specs" above. 



93 



WAKE UP! 

Wake up, each loyal man and true, 
There's earnest work for all to do! 
Until we have the victory won, 
Let active, lively work be done. 
Wake up! 

Bring out your bonny boys in blue 
And let them have some work to do. 
Strike out as did the gallant Blaine, 
'Till shouts of victory rose from Maine 
Wake up! 

Bring out the torch lights, let them blaz* 
And clear the track, my boys, for Hayes 
Vermont with hardy sons and true 
Found she had earnest work to do. 
Wake up! 

Let music swell, and shout and sing, 
And let the grand Republic ring 
Till cheer on cheer at length will tell 
We fought the contest long and well. 
Wake up! 



94 



THANKSGIVING ANTHEM 

This day with thankful hearts we bring 

A Nation's laudit to our King, 

This day from toil and labor free 

We dedicate, dear Lord, to Thee. 

We bless Thee for the peace that reigns 

Today, throughout these domains: 

We bless Thee that Thy loving care 

Is manifested everywhere ; 

And every kindred tongue, the same 

May join to-day, to praise Thy name, 

While in accord their voices ring 

Glad hallelujah to our Kinp. 

We bless Thee for the light that shines 

To-day, through dark benighted minds, 

That wretched souls have sought relief 

In gospel truth, from unbelief. 

That far and near, on land and sea 

The weary soul may flee to Thee, 

The poor distressed, the needy, all 

May on Thy mercies daily call. 

And Thou wilt hear, and Thou wilt bless, 

Relieve their woes and heal distress. 

We bless Thee that Thy bounteous hand 

Has strewn such plenty o'er the land. 

Enough for every present need 

The ripe, rich produce of the seed, 

The ripened sheaves of golden grain 

Bedecked the meadows and the plain. 

The frequent showers o'er the mead 

Came ever in the hour of need. 

All nature in her garland dress 

Gives back her look of thankfulness; 

The daisy and the buttercup 

Have drank their fill of dew drops up, 



95 



The meadow queen that sinks to rest 
Upon the evening's dewy breast 
As though afresh in beauty born 
Awakes to greet the rising morn. 
The Robin red-breast folds its wing 
While Nightingales at even tide sing. 
Thus varying nature's all unite 
To praise Thee through the day and night 
Oh, may we all Thy blessing share 
And join this day in fervent prayer. 
The dimpled face, and furrowed cheek 
May each their gratitude bespeak. 
The hardened palm and soft and fair 
May clasp, this day, in earnest prayer 
And all Thy kindred voices ring 
In glad Hosannas to our King. 



96 



TO MY GENIUS 

"Genius will shine out among the stars of 
lesu r magnitude surrounding it" 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

O! Slumber not! I'd wake the spell, 

That thou mine inmost thoughts could tell 

Aim not too high, nor yet too low! 

But know just what you ought to know! 

And try to stand the test of time. 

To meet the foes averse to rhyme 

They cannot sift a thought of thine 

That do to adverse moods incline 

Don't be afraid, for Genius ne'er 

Was born to human hate or fear 

Be firm and resolute to tell 

All that you know; and know it well 

Not all perhaps can easy see 

The drift of thought conveyed by thee 

For leaden structures of the brain 

May search for glowing thoughts in vaint 

In Critic's art we often see 

A vain attempt at rivalry ! 

So be yourself as modestly 

As native genius seems to be 

No borrowed strength, no helping hand 

Can lay the structure where you stand 

You face the world, and to it say 

I'll hold my own, go on your way. 



97 



A TRAMP IN CHURCH 

How fickle fortune oft may lead 

To soul remorse in human need 

So unforseen the course we tread 

Till ev'ry hope of life is fled, 

And so the tramp's bright morn at last 

Was by misfortune overcast, 

Success and failure often go 

Through crosses that we hardly know 

And when secure we seem to be 

And would from all reverses flee 

The hand of want we often see. 

And then ! we seek, and seek in vain 

For that which may not come again, 

To me, perhaps, perhaps to you; 

The road is long we are traveling through, 

And know not what will e'er betide 

'Twere best divest ourselves of pride; 

But oh! the world is cold to-day. 

Not one kind word one genial ray 

To help the needy on their way. 

The tramp within the church door stood 

And said the people must be good 

They all looked nice while passing through, 

But no one said, "Have you a pew?" 

So by the Deacon set him down 

Who seemed, at once, to wear a frown 

And hitched along, as if to say 

A tramp within my pew to-day 

With ragged coat and rumpled hair. 

They couldn't see the heart within 

That loathed all kinds of earthly sin 

Whose self-assurance seemed to say 

"Like you I've seen a better day." 

Around the church his eyes he cast 

98 



And fixed them on a face at last 
A saintly woman face as long 
As is the metre of a song. 
The pastor's voice rose rich and clear 
It filled his soul with hope to hear 
"Come unto me, all ye who are 
Weary and heavy saddened, 
And I will give you rest." • 
A wavering thought his mind oppressed 
He murmured softly, "Food and rest," 
A smothered sob, a tear dimmed eye, 
He wondered if some help were nigh. 
Some pennies in his vest he found 
When the collection box came 'round, 
" 'Tis all I have, I'll drop them in 
Just to absolve myself from sin." 
So when the services were o'er 
Unrecognized he left the door. 
'Tis thus we little heed or know 
Our fellowmen their weal or woe 
God ! help us in the Judgment Day 
For what we fail to do or say! 



99 



MEMORIAL DAY 

O Union! Dear Union! how sacred 
The graves of thy soldiers should be, 

Who are sleeping to-day on the hillsides, 
In the plains and valleys for thee. 

O Union! Dear Union! the moss-clod 

May hide their loved forms from our vievr 

But know^ there are five hundred thousand 
Of brave ones now^ sleeping for you. 

And the stripes from thy banners have fallen 
And their star-spangled emblems shall be 

A union thrice hallow^ed forever, 
Whose people are happy and free. 

No cloud 'neath the future horizon 

Of hope ever need more appear, 
For the lines of dissension are banished 

And the daw^n of prosperity's here. 

Then Union! Dear Union! the spring-time 

Reviving once more shall renew 
In the hearts of thy people devotion 

For the heroes so valiant and true. 

And over the graves where the angels 

Are silently watching by night, 
And the star spangled heavens above them 

Irradiates beauty and light. 

Let the Grand Army comrades assemble. 

With the friends, on Memorial Day, 
To strew o'er the graves of our heroes 

The beautiful blossoms of May. 



lOO 



'Tis the camp ground where heroes are resting 

While the years of vacuity roll, 
Till the glad resurrection awakens 

The peace and the joy of the soul. 

Then come with the hands of affection, 
To strew them with garlands anew, 

Twine the evergreen bough with the blossom 
And bind with the red, white and blue. 

O Union! Dear Union! how sacred 
The graves of thy soldiers should be. 

Where five hundred thousand are sleeping, 
The martyrs of true liberty. 



lOl 



IN RESPONSE TO "YOUTHFUL DAYS " 

Thy retrospect, my poet friend, 

Through many hearts, a thrill will send ; 

For as the rapid moments fly 

They dream of joys and loves gone by, 

Of all their lost and broken toys. 

Of childhood scenes and childhood joys 

Which some may feel, 'mid life's stern strife 

Had been the brightest page of life. 

What matters, if in youth or age 

Who occupy this busy stage? 

If all were zealous to be good, 

And live as Christian people should. 

Avoiding webs that snare the feet, 

E'en every stage of life were sweet 

For those who 'mid earth's daily strife 

Bend nobly towards a perfect life. 

And when the clouds the darkest lower, 

Soar grandly higher — higher soar, 

Nor think that all their glory's past. 

Bright joys have fled — their die is cast; 

And they must yield each glit'ring hope 

And 'mid desponding shadows grope; 

And they no more need strive for fame, 

Position, honor, wealth or name. 

But sit and mope, and sigh and say 

"All hopeful days have passed away." 

Oh! sad indeed the man of fear 

To sigh without a danger near, 

To sleep and doze on downy bed 

While God's rich blessings crown his head, 

And when his cup is brimming o'er 

He slumbers on and sleeps the more. 

Awake! Arise! Ye dozy soul. 

Roll off, foreboding agues roll, 



1 02 



Bid sloth and lethargy depart, 

Infuse new vigor in thy heart — 

Why in want's dark, grim visage stare? 

Did not God for the sparrow care? 

And who gave to that manly form 

A breast to brave the driving storm, 

A foot, if only turned aright 

Might scale the noblest, grandest height, 

And arms with sinewy, strength which well 

Could forest dense of woodland fell ; 

And wilt thou? Son of man — wilt thou 

Fold them and say, "'tis over nowt" 

Adown the stream I'll listless glide, 

I cannot stem this rushing tide, 

I'll turn aside, and on the shore 

Of buried hopes say life is o'er. 



103 



I AM NO RUDE ICONOCLAST 

I am no rude iconoclast, 

Who, with irreverent hand, would break 

One sacred image of the past — 

Just for cold reason's simple sake; 

Yet when no floral beauties bloom, 
But mud and mire and raw spring gale, 
With their attendant awful gloom. 
Pretends the poet's spring to hail — 

With strict regard for homely truth, 
I hasten straight to undeceive. 
And tell each spring-enraptured youth 
That she is but a "make-believe." 

What you call spring, it seems to me. 
Is some frail maid or fickle miss 
Wlio promises most royally, 
But pays alone with frozen kiss. 

She hath her frosts, her mud and "slush," 
With dismal storming, as a rule ; 
Her long-hair'd poets in their gush 
Make us forget her "April fool." 

Her verdant bloom and gentle ways 
Are faith in things we have not seen ; 
From what her prattling rhymer says. 
We fain believe 'tis he that's green. 

Go forth in March on woody path 
To hear the royal robin sing. 
And you'll return in awful wrath 
And "howl" about this gentle spring. 

104 



Go, too, tempt the "April showers," 
Which fall in hail on frozen earth, 
To wake the silent, sleeping flowers 
From death to their perennial birth. 

Go seek in May, mid ice-clad nook, 
In vain for flowers beneath the snow; 
Sit on the ice by the purling brook, 
And feel and hear the breezes blow. 

No one can tell when she will wake, 
With quivering lustre rare and sweet — 
With wild perfume in fern and brake, 
And joyous song the flowers to greet. 

But when she does there is no spring — 
For summer reigns in earth and sky, 
And this poor fickle, sleepy thing. 
We soon forget without a sigh. 



105 



SPRING 

"Spring, sprang, beautiful sprung!" 
Gaily the Rochester Democrat sung. 
With a flash of the pen and a twist of the tongue 
He wangled his wime in a wing, wang, wung; 
And thinking he must, at that wonderful rate. 
Have wimed up his "wimes" in an abnormal state. 
Don't wonder he cavils at poets who sing 
Of the time-honored subject of "beautiful spring." 
But "muchly" we wonder the elegant thought, 
Expressed in the beautiful poem he wrought ; 
For surely he soared in the grandest of rhyme. 
When he strung it in "rhamlets" the thought was 

sublime. 
And wonder that nature, in "longing" her "ling," 
Hadn't crowned him the greenest of "beautiful 

spring." 
And, while courting the muses, she grandly uprose, 
And decked him the Laureate "in gleefulest gloze" 
We thought that the first rays of spring time would 

bring 
From long winter coverts, the bipeds of spring; 
But e'er the first robins have opened their lays. 
The croakers and quawkers are shouting in praise, 
Their envious nature, on waking, it seems 
From social slumbers of long winter dreams, 
Had thought that the poets were slumbering still, 
And wielded in beautiful "reamlets," the quill. 
If you think, feigned poet, in croaking your praise. 
You e'er could resemble the robin's sweet lays, 
Just think of the fable of ^sop, wherein 
The Ass's ears peered from the old lion's skin. 
And when in transforming the poets would sling 
To the manglers of rhyme — let the "beautiful 

spring" 

1 06 



Be sung by the muses, with God-given powers, 
Who revel in spring time 'mid fancies and flowers, 
While animate natures unitedly sing. 
Farewells to old winter and welcome to spring. 



ro7 



LIFE'S BOIS'TROUS SEA 

I had a friend, who, long estranged. 

In devious paths from me had ranged — 

Some evil one had tried to be 

A barrier 'twixt her love and me ; 

And, jealous of the ties that bind 

Two hearts in one, alike in mind. 

Sought to prevail with evil wile 

'Gainst love that bound our hearts the while 

I knew not why I came to see 

A change came o'er her love for me ; 

She seemed to shun and I could spy 

No more the love-light in her eye — 

No more her kindly voice would cheer, 

No more her presence lingered near ; 

Thus her estrangement came to be 

A canker worm of grief to me ; 

For I had borne with saddened heart 

My friend's cold look, 'till life apart 

Seemed but to me a v, eary day, 

Beneath that cold and cheerless ray. 

Until with pride, which true hearts feel, 

When cold indifiFerence round them steal, 

I ceased to think, and proud disdain 

Brought back my former self again. 

And I despised the friend who e'er 

Would lend distrust a listening ear, 

And sighed no more — our lives should be 

Apart from each, distinct and free. 

Thus had it been; but fate, more kind, 

Revealed the wiles of base design. 

And in an hour, regretfully 

She came and talked again with me ; 

The same kind eye, the same fond smile, 

Which M'ould before my love beguile. 



1 08 



Stole through the impulse of my heart 

And bade my cold reserve depart; 

I saw her heart was still the same. 

She fondly breathed again my name. 

As love returned I gently pressed 

Her kindly, warmly to my breast: 

And thoughts again we interchanged, 

1 hough long our hearts had been estranged. 

MORAL 

Let those who trifle with the heart 
Beware! lest they in time may part 
The silken thread, and rend in twain 
Bonds which may ne'er unite again, 
Till severed all, they, too, may be 
Like lone barks on life's bois'trous sea. 



109 



HURRAH FOR HAYES AND WHEELER 

Do you see the banners waving? 

Do you hear the cannons roar? 
Do you see the bonfires blazing? 

And the rockets flying o'er? 

CHORUS 



And dinna ye hear the slogan ? 

And dinna ye hear the cry? 
Hurrah for Hayes and Wheeler^ 

Hurrah! hurrah! we'll rally by-and-by. 

For we hail the nominations, 
And with many a hearty cheer 

We will win the victory surely, 
In this grand centennial year. 



Chi 



We are coming on to conquer, 

We will come with power and might, 
For they ever fight the bravest 

Wlio are struggling for the right. 



Chi 



We will rally from the hillside. 
We will rally from the plain ; 

For we saved the land from rebels. 
And we'll save it once again ! 



Chorus 



no 



CONDOLENCE 

I saw thee when hot tears rolled down 
Thy firm and manly cheek; 

I saw thee when emotions strong 
Forbade thy lips to speak. 

I saw thy struggle to suppress 

The inward rising grief, 
And knew that in those tears alone 

Thy heart could find relief. 

One thrill of anguish rent my breast, 

In sympathy with thine; 
For all the pangs you felt that hour, 

In years gone by were mine. 

And oh, I thought "dear Lord assuage 

The sorrow of that breast. 
And pour a healing balm upon 

The spirit of unrest." 

No earthly comforter, I knew 
Could bring relief to thee. 

For I had felt the same deep pang 
And naught availed with me. 

Time — unheard time, will steal along, 

And 'neath its silent tread 
The sting of grief may wear away, 

While yet we mourn the dead. 

To thee and her, whose tender hearts 
Now bleed afresh with grief. 

In sympathy I point thee to 
The Savior for relief. 

Ill 



Who said, "I take these little lambs 
And fold them to my breast — 

Protection they shall find in me, 
In me be ever blest." 

Oh beautiful the thought my friends, 

That when this life is o'er 
Our little ones in Jesus' arms 

May rest forever more; 

Away from all the ills that wait 

Life's pilgrimage below — 
Away from all the sins that fate 

Could round their pathway throw. 

Friends of my heart, while sorrow weighs 

So heavily on thee, 
I pray that each by faith sustained 

More reconciled to be. 



fe:-'"" 



112 



BURIED IN FLOWERS. 

"Throw them all in; Mazie, dear Mazie shall 
have them aW^ 

In a casket of flowers, of beautiful flowers, 
All fragrant with dew drops and tears, 

Lies dear little Mazie, the child of our love, 
To rest through the int'rim of years. 

To rest while her spirit, no longer entombed 
From earth's delicate tenement riven, 

Arose like the incense of beautiful flowers 
And wafted its way unto Heaven. 

How fair is the tomb that encircles her form, 
And how sweetly the darling must rest. 

Like innocence, sleeping in petals of flowers. 
Or lulled on some wavelet's fair breast. 

Though deep the affliction that bears from this life 

The forms and the faces we love, 
Yet kindly the Parent who chastens us here. 

Unites us more firmly above. 

Then sleep, sweetly sleep, in thy casket of flowers, 

Dear Mazie, forever from sorrow. 
And bright be the waking — so soon unto thee. 

That will be as it were but the morrow! 

Yet know that in silence full many a tear 

And soft sigh to thy memory given, 
Will be wafted from this, thy childhood's home, 

O'er thy beautiful casket to Heaven. 



113 



WHEN THE MISTS HAVE CLEARED 
AWAY 

When the mists have rolled in splendor 

From the beauty of the hills, 
And the sunshine, warm and tender, 

Falls in kisses on the rills, 
We may read Love's shining letter 

In the rainbow of the spray; 
We shall know each other better, 

When the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 
Never more to walk alone. 
In the dawning of the morning, 

When the mists have cleared away. 

If we err in human blindness, 

And forget that we are dust: 
If we miss the law of kindness. 

When we struggle to be just; 
Snowy wings of peace shall cover 

All the pain that clouds our day, 
When the weary watch is over, 

And the mists have cleared away, 
We shall know as we are known. 
Never more to walk alone. 
In the dawning of the morning. 

When the mists have cleared away. 

When the silver mist has veiled us 

From the faces of our own. 
Oft we deem their love has failed us, 

And we tread our path alone; 
We should see them near and truly, 

We should trust them day by day. 
Neither love nor blame unduly, 



114 



If the mists have cleared away, 
We shall know as we are known, 
Never more to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning. 
When the mists have cleared away. 



J15 



RE-ECHO TO "WHEN THE MISTS HAVE 
CLEARED AWAY" 

When the mists that gather round us 

Quite preclude the light of day, 
And our dearest joys and pleasures 

Dimmed and withering fade away. 
"We may read" that life uncertain 

Seemeth hardly worth our stay, 
And we would not care how quickly 

All the earth mists fade away. 
If we know that we have striven 
Through the long and weary way 

And have kept our course most nobly 

Till the mists have cleared away. 

But when morning beams all radiant 

Mid effulgent beauties glow 
We will know from whence the cloud-caps 

And from whom those blessings flow. 
And our hearts in adoration 

Towards a Father's infinite love, 
Wakens with a strong pulsation 

For the fairer scenes above. 

If we know that we have striven 
Through the long and weary way 

And have kept our course most nobly 

Till the mists have cleared away. 

If we only feel securely 

That in sunshine or in shade 
God is everything and only 

Leaves us as our faith may fade. 
We will say, to misty mornings 

Dawn upon us for the light. 

ii6 



May but lead us from the pathway 
Ere the coming of the night. 
If we know that we have striven 
Through the long and weary way 
And have kept our course most nobly 
Till the mists have cleared away. 



117 



EDWIN D. CLIFTON 

With a pall of deep mourning our fond hearts are 

shrouded, 
The hopes and joys of our bosoms are fled, 
The sunlight that gilded a life's brightest morning 
Has set e'er its midday, all rayless and dead. 

No longer its light will illumine our dwelling 
In the brightness and beauty of life's early day. 
Like the leaves of the autumn now falling around us, 
The form we loved dearly is wrapped in decay. 

How sad is the parting from those we love fondly, 
When death bears for ever our loved ones away; 
No longer their presence can gladden our dwelling; 
Our nights set in darkness, and cheerless the day. 

And broken the ties of a filial affection 

That held us to earth in a loving embrace. 

Or bonds that were stronger in life's early morning 

With kindly remembrance and sorrow we trace. 

Yet strong is our hope in that life all immortal 
When borne on the wings of bright angels above. 
The soul may find rest in that Heavenly Eden 
And bask in the sunlight of God's blessed love. 

The fire may burn brightly and loved ones may 

gather 
Within the home circle as in days that are past; 
But around us the mantle of grief which has fallen, 
Its weight and its shadow of mourning will cast. 

Yet through the deep shadows our hearts will be 
lighted 

ii8 



When we think of the path that his loved feet have 
trod, 

And the dear ones who aided in guiding his foot- 
steps 

And lead his young thoughts from life's follies to 
God. 

He has gone in the pride and the flush of his man- 
hood, 
Gone in the bloom and the beauty of youth, 
Gone, while his cheek wore the mantle of honor, 
Gone, an example of honor and truth. 

Gone where the pure and holy are gathered, 
Gone with the blessed Redeemer to reign. 
Gone from this world with its sickness and sorrow, 
Gone from distress and from anguish and pain. 

Gone where the golden grain's ripe for the harvest, 
When the last rays of summer were lingering still; 
Gone, as the blossoms that bloom for a season, 
Fading in autumn o'er meadow and hill. 

Gone with a name and a life all untarnished, 
Cherished and loved by the pure and the true. 
Gone, while the grass o'er his grave will yet 

freshen — 
Moistened by tear drops, by rain and by dew. 

Gone, and may time on its swift flying pinions 
Lift the dark veil that now shrouds you in gloom, 
Healing the wound in your sorrowing bosoms, 
And lighten your pathway adown to the tomb. 



119 



THE CLOSING YEAR 

Time rolls its ceaseless course along; 

And, on the distant shore, 
The wave-beats of the passing year 

Are heard no more. 

But on the dial-plate, perchance, 

Recorded there may be 
The ever variable shades 

Of mystery. 

For, restless as the foamy tide, 

Unsteady as the sea. 
The Nation rocks upon the wave. 

Uncertainty. 

And thus the dying year goes out, 

Amid its restless throes; 
And o'er the finis of its work 

The records close. 

But as the New Year wakes again, 

United still in Thee, 
Be every bond renewed in love 

And fealty. 

And peace and harmony pervade 

This land from shore to shore, 
And freedom's soil in richness yield 

Her golden store. 

Thrice happy Nation — wealth and power 

Throughout thy broad domain ; 
Thy North and South, the East and West. 

A fertile plain. 



1 20 



The hum of industry is heard 

On every foreign shore, 
And immigration's constant tide 

Must yearly pour. 

No more oppression's power is felt 

Upon this free-born soil, 
Nor stinted treasure unrequites 

The lab'rers toil. 

Hand clasped in hand from North to South 

The chasm closes o'er. 
Removing hate's dividing lines, 

Forevermore. 

The harmonies of nature blend 

Their influences in one. 
The cooling breeze, the gentle shower, 

The genial sun. 

A little tributary stream, 

Wound gently to the sea 
And lost within the rushing tide. 

Identity. 

And yet, amid that vast expanse 

Of waters, formed a part 
Of the broad channel that conveyed 

To commerce mart. 

So every state, united land, 

Essential seems to be 
Creative of a nation's wealth. 

In unity. 



121 



And as the closing of the year 
Reminds us of the power 

By which our nation is upheld 
In every hour. 

O, let us in devotion join 

And gratefully proclaim 
His loving kindness while we praise 

His loving name. 



122 



WOMAN'S SPHERE 

Who tells us soft breezes around her shall blow? 
Who know of her future or ever can know? 
The morning dawns cloudless, the sun beaming high, 
And nature seems lovely beneath the fair sky, 
And warmed by the sun rays and watered by 

showers 
Spring forth from the earth bed, the beautiful 

flowers 
As meek and as peerless, as fair and as true 
As the clear crystal streamlet, or bright sparkling 

dew. 
This, this the bright morning, when youth and when 

love 
Are as pure and as perfect, as angels above 
When out on the voyage of life's wearisome way 
Our dear ones betake them, the happy and gay, 
To enter the bark, and drift out from the shore 
From whence the fair freightage is borne ever more, 
O'er wild surging billows, adown the life stream, 
Away from their home-land, their morning's bright 

dream. 
The vessel is anchored, the morn bright and clear, 
The dear ones are happy in this their loved sphere. 
This is but a figure — the voyage is but life, 
Her sphere to be trusting, and faithful as wife, 
Her sphere to be loving and gentle and true. 
And watchful and patient, life's long journey 

through. 
To chase away sorrow, to smile through a tear 
And laugh when her bosom is laden with fear. 
The joy of her fond heart her eye must bespeak. 
The blush of the maiden must mantle her cheek. 
Her heart 'mid its throbbings in silence must beat, 
Her step softly treading all wary her feet; 



123 



Thus onward, aye onward through life fair or drear, 
Fulfilling the mission assigned to her sphere, 
And thus on life's pages you'll see to the wife 
Belong the most arduous duties of life 
Till oft their bright fancies love's beautiful themes 
Became the heart's canker of troublesome dreams. 
Then out of the soft silken thread of her life 
Let her weave stronger webs to fit her for wife. 
That matron or maiden, which ever she be, 
When tost on the waves of life's troublesome sea 
May feel she's the power when the tide winds shall 

blow, 
'Mid the changeable currents, her own boat to row 
With strength and with courage and firmness to 

show 
To the babbling world and the wild winds that 

blow, 
And to those who would cant on the sphere of the 

fair, 
With talk light as bawbles that float on the air, 
That she knows her true sphere and a proper one 

too. 
And one that true woman will ever pursue; 
But she does not believe that her grand life was 

given 
To dwell in the shade, 'neath the pure light of 

heaven, 
But to joy in the sunlight around her to steal 
The bright soul's aspirings — that all mortals feel ; 
While ever to cherish the ties of this life. 
The fond loving mother, the daughter and wife. 
Yet but to feel in return that love pure and true. 
As nobly attends her life long journey through. 
That woman, true woman may speak and may 

think, 
Mav come to the fountain of Knowledge and drink. 



124 



There crowning her life in the same sparkling 

stream, 
The joy and the fullness of life's brightest dream ; 
The world's full of beauty, and beautiful themes 
Of beautiful figures, and beautiful dreams. 
And beautiful fancies, and beautiful lives, 
And the lovely alliance of husbands and wives; 
But yet in deep bondage are beautiful lives. 
Yet are they awaking, as time onward flies 
And will gird on more strength as trials arise; 
Like the bark that glides safely in sunshine and calm, 
But reefs her when entering the virulent storm, 
Not the pets and the pansie and delicate flowers 
To be strewn by the wild wind, or drenched by 

the showers, 
But neutrally, physically, able to share 
Life's joys and life's sorrows, life's toils and life's 

cares. 



125 



STORM KING AND ENGINEER 

The white plumed Storm-kings 

In battle array, 
Had planned a fierce fight 

On the engines, one day; 

And, with Heaven's artill'ry, 

A volley they pour. 
And keep up a steady 

And increasing roar. 

While Boreas, the storm god, 

Lead on in the van 
And challenged the rail-roaders 

Each one to a man. 

And he howled and he hooted 

And whistled amain 
"As though Lok, the destroyer, 

Had burst from his chain." 

'Till writhing and twisting 

This demon of storm 
Vied with fiends in the tactics 

They nightly perform. 

But the brave engineers 
With brave face to the gale, 

'Mid tempest of wind. 
And of ice, and of hail. 

Rode into the fight 

To give blow for blow 
And plowed through the trenches 

Of ice, and of snow. 

126 



With the speed of the lightning 
The war-horse of steam 

Fronts the demon of storm 
While his fiery eyes gleam. 

And onward right onward 

By night and by day 
With the prowess of warriors 

He battles away. 

But the storm-king unyielding 

Determined to stay 
For a long winter's siege, 

On the engines to play. 

Till the hoot of the whistle 

All lost in the gale 
Pealed out on the air 

Like a dismal wail. 

Yet onward right onward 

Still onward they go, 
Right over the icebanded 

Fetters below. 

In the heat of a contest 

When danger is near. 
The bravest are often 

Reluctant to steer. 

But the brave engineers 

Are the heroes to-day 
WTio have faithfully. 

Nobly, battled away. 

127 



Now here is the moral 
If you're striving to do, 

With your might and your main 
And you fail to pull through. 

We ask in all reason, 
Of the grumbling crew, 

Was the fault of Boreas 

Or the men of "true blue?" 

And perhaps it were well 

In this age of fast mail 
To think, through the din 

Of old Boreas' wail. 

How the post-men of yore 
Would come tugging along 

With the mail bags that greeted 
The impatient throng. 



128 



MUSIC. 

Music, gentle floating music, 
Filling earth and air and sea; 
Ever in thy ceaseless murmuring 
Comes thy deepest tone to me. 

Not alone in harp tones trilling 

Nor the lute's soft melody, 

But the tones that touch the heart chords. 

Love and Truth and Liberty. 

Tones where heart to heart is speaking 
In a language all its own — 
'Mid its dim recesses seeking. 
But an echo of its own. 

Tones that harmonize together. 
Where emotions steep and strong — 
Waken to a sense of justice, 
Deepen with a sense of wrong. 

Music, gentle floating music, 
Filling earth and air and sea — 
Warbling songsters, evening zephyrs 
Thrill my heart with melody. 



129 



UNRECOGNIZED, BUT NOT FORGOT 

I had not known thee, when we met, 
Because long years had flown; 
Nor would I easily forget — 
But you had older grown. 

Yet when reproachfully you said, 
In softened tones to me: 
"I know that many years have fled. 
Still I remember thee." 

You touched at once the silent chord 
Which thrilled to memories chimes, 
And in the magic of thy word. 
Awoke the olden times. 

And as we meet, my friend to part, 
This pledge I make to thee — 
Unrecognized — yet in my heart 
Thou 'It live in memory. 



i^O 



SYMPATHY 

What! do not want the sympathy 

That kindly hearts bestow — 
Let cold indif rence steal thine own 

'Gainst warm hearts gentle flow? 

Of feeling pulsing through the breast, 

For you 'mid strife and care, 
From those whose hands most gladly would 

Thy heavy burdens bear — 

Would 'st lighten all the ills of life 

That round thy pathway teem, 
And picture fairest scenes to fill 

Thy young life's fondest dream? 

Hearts that but yield unselfish love 

And lavish it on thee. 
Alone can feel an int'rest in 

Thy future destiny. 

Did'st never feel a chilling thrill. 

In this cold, selfish world. 
From ice-clad hearts whose envious scorn 

Indif 'rence round thee hurled? 

Want not the sympathy that springs 

Unconscious though it be. 
In all the fullness of regard, 

Outgushing, and for thee? 

Lik'st not the clasp of kindly hand, 

The love-light of the eye — 
Feel'st not some throb within thy heart 

When sympathy is nigh? 

131 



Would 'st tread the desert waste of life 

All selfish and alone, 
With no dependence on a friend, 

No friendship 'round thee thrown? 

Would'st steel thy heart nor dare to trust 

To friendship's offer given ? 
My friend, 'tis loving faith alone 

That ope's the gates of heaven. 

This world is not so bad a world, 

Nor cold as 'twould appear; 
Oft when we little heed there is 

Some warm heart throbbing near. 

If scenes like these awaken not 

That frigid heart of thine, 
I ask not one responsive note, 

To vibrate unto mine. 

Ah! sad mistake, for thou may'st feel. 
Sometime with longing heart, 

Thou'd'st have some sympathetic word 
Its healing balm impart. 

Unseal that frozen heart of thine. 

And let the fervent glow 
Of kind and tender sympathies 

On thee their love bestow. 



132 



TO THE MEMORY OF DR. S. N. 
SHERMAN 

They have laid him to rest, the lone spirit has fled, 
And the last service rendered, entombing the dead ; 
It has gone on bright wings to the Father who gave, 
And the corse is lain low in the depths of the grave. 

Let him rest! 

On the banks of the St. Lawrence, where the clear 
waters flow. 

Where the hedge in its verdure and beauty, will 
grow, 

Where the mourners will come, in the swift pass- 
ing years. 

And bending above them bedew them with tears. 

Let him rest! 

Where the last rays of sunlight, will lingering beam 
And the moon in her beauty light up the dark scene ; 
Where the swells gently rolling the green mound 

will lave. 
And the first gleam of morning breaks forth o'er 

the grave. 

Let him rest! 

While the spirit has soared to the Father in bliss, 
And severed are ties that have bound it to this; 
And broken are bonds, and the cords are all riven, 
But there's hope, dearest hope, of reunion in Heaven. 

Let him rest! 

It is sweet to return, to the Father at length, 
When life is bereft of its vigor and strength; 



133 



Nor lost are high honors, fair virtue and fame, 
Though dead they will live to encircle his name. 

Let him rest! 

Though time should steal on, with its noiseless tread, 
And dry up the tears, that are shed for the dead ; 
Yet memory ne'er sleeps, and in visions will send 
Loved thoughts of the scholar, the patriot and friend. 

Let him rest! 

Oh! yes, there is rest for the pilgrims above 
Where they dwell in the sunlight of God's precious 

love ; 
Where they wake not to sorrow, to sadness ne'er 

wake; 
Let them sleep, sweetly sleep, 'till the morning will 

break. Let him rest! 



134 



PENCILINGS FROM ONE OF THE 
THOUSAND ISLANDS 

No wonder Bonnie Castle rears 

Her head above these isles, 
Or genius loves to yearly come 

Where crystal water wiles. 

No wonder jeweled hands would dip 

Beneath this sparkling wave, 
Or weary feet would long to come 

And 'neath these waters lave. 

No wonder by this cooling stream 

From summer's fervent heat, 
That hands clasp hands from other shores. 

And here in friendship meet. 

No wonder whitening sails are seen 

Like phantoms on the tide, 
And lovers ply the dipping oar, 

And o'er the waters glide. 

No wonder in these lovely isles 

The statesman seeks a rest — 
And here beguiles the summer hours 

With many a favorite guest. 

Flow on St. Lawrence! Gently roll 

Till time shall be no more; 
And lightly may the white sails dip 

Thy heaving bosom o'er. 

Flow on, and may the spirits flow 
That oft oppress the soul 

135 



More lightly, as they dip the oar 
Where glossy waters roll. 

Around this lively isle sweep on, 

And send thy gentle spray 
With moisture o'er these mossy rocks 

Where velvet carpets lay. 



136 



TO OUR SOLDIERS 

{Respectfully dedicated to the soldiers who 
met at the late re-union in Gouverneur) 

We hail you, soldiers nobly brave, 

With welcome warm and true ; 
For deep within our hearts there lives 

A reverence, due to you. 

"To you who bear the scar of war, 

Which evermore will be, 
Iron bands that bind our hearts to yours — 

True friends of liberty. 

To you, brave volunteers, whose fame 

Must live forevermore; 
And you, who marched to battle front, 

Three hundred thousand more — 

To you our hearts this day respond, 

As they have done before, 
When with the charging hosts you stood 

Mid cannon's deadly roar. 

To you, this day, again we call 
In strength, and power, and might, 

To hold the dangerous foe at bay, 
And rally for the right. 

By all the past our zeal is fired, 

In agony and tears; 
By all the dangers that awoke 

Our periled nation's fears; 

137 



By all the blood and treasure lost, 

By all the wounds and pain 
Of half a million sleeping now, 

By rebel bullets slain; 

By all the scenes that chill the heart 

As on the bed of death 
We saw a dying soldier lie, 

And with expiring breath 

He spoke of many a bloody field 

And of the victory there — 
And as the life pulse ceased to beat 

The mother knelt in prayer — 

And with her upstretched hands she cried; 

"The victory is won — 
Oh God receive, with open arras, 

My valiant soldier son ! 

He fell, but not as Lincoln fell, 
Who set the bondsmen free, 

But thou, my soldier boy hast died, 
My native land, for thee." 



138 



TO HELEN McFALLS BURDELL 

Oh death! how quick thine arrow sped — 
A gentle spirit soon has fled, 
And friends bewail the silent dead 
And fond hearts break with sorrow. 

No stronger ties on earth could bind 
The loving hearts of humankind, 
Where fond affection's link entwined, 
Than those now rent with sorrow. 

O, could the tears that parting brings 
Remove the sad and sorrowing stings 
Of grief, that through the heart so wrings 
Its wailing and its sorrow. 

O, unexpected death! thy dart 
Sends deepest its untimely smart, 
Thou break 'st the fond and loving heart, 
And fill'st life's cup with sorrow. 

Thou tak'st the fairest of the best 
To yon bright shore of peaceful rest; 
The mother and the child are blest, 
But fond hearts break with sorrow. 



139 



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